Under the French Sky
by iamphantomgirl
Summary: An alt. to Kay: What if Erik had a mother who loved him, but tragedy tore them apart, and robbed him of his youthful and perfect face? What if he had a relatively untroubled childhood, and tried to return to the village where he had been raised?
1. Unacknowledged, but Loved

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Artenay, France, 1846_

The shadows of the two boys were visible across the uneven ground as they walked back to the cottage where the older boy lived. The younger boy, Erik Dessain, swung his arms carelessly in the warm summer night, thinking that for the most part, nothing was more pretty than the purple sky overhead. They had been down near the lake since dusk, and would have stayed longer if Derrik's little sister hadn't come from the darkness, demanding that they return so Derrik could read a story to her before she went to bed.

She was being carried quite ungracefully on her brother's back, her blond head pressed between his shoulder blades in contentment.

"What are you going to read me, Derrik?" she asked wistfully. "The story of the evil witch?"

"No Suzie," Derrik said dryly. "You'll be awake half the night."

Susanna Allard lifted her head and glared at the back of her brother's head for a moment. Then she turned to Erik, "You would read me a scary story, wouldn't you, Erik?"

"I would," he promised solemnly. "I'd read you one so scary, you wouldn't sleep for a week."

"_Oh_," she whispered. "I want _you_ to read me a story then."

Erik smiled, but gave her a gentle let-down.

"You know my mother wants me home before dark. I've already made her anxious enough. I need to return."

She grumbled, and complained, but did not ask again. One thing that had kept her in the boys' favor for as long as she had been, was that she didn't whine like other children. And with Derrik at the advanced age of twelve, and Erik at eleven, they both considered themselves very kind indeed to let an eight year old girl tag along behind them.

Not that she could_ all_ the time, with the tree climbing, and swimming in the lake, and riding their horses around the countryside north of Orleans, just sixty miles from Paris. But whenever they stayed close to town, and did their lessons together after the schoolmaster, Monsieur Allard, released them for the day, they would let her linger around and sometimes tag along, provided she didn't tattle on them for getting into mischief.

The cottage eventually came into view, but Erik veered off to the right, going to his own home, where his mother was undoubtedly frantic.

"I'll see you at school in the morning," he called over his shoulder, and set off toward the house where he and his mother lived alone at the very end of the road.

When he entered the modest two story home, his mother descended on him at once.

"Erik," she said worriedly, "I told you to be home before dark."

She wrapped her arms around him, smoothing his hair back from his youthful face, then pushed him into the dining room.

"Now eat," she said firmly. "You have to go to school tomorrow, and you have piano lessons afterwards. You know that Monsieur Talbot is only interested in serious students."

"But Maman," he sighed in exasperation. "Monsieur Talbot said he didn't need to teach me anymore. He says I've surpassed the need for instruction."

"Really, Erik," she frowned, her dark brown eyes showing her irritation, "you should be grateful he teaches you anything at all. None of the other children in this village have ever been taught by Monsieur Talbot. Or any children in this world, for that matter. Now eat!"

Scowling at his plate for a moment, he dug in, eager to finish the dinner portion, so he could see what she had made for dessert. He hoped that Monsieur Talbot would be home tomorrow for his lesson. Sometimes when Erik rode his horse all the way to the village, he would be from home. No note, no explanation to describe why he had missed their appointed afternoon meetings. He was merely absent minded and tended to wander off into the woods near his house to see the wonder of nature. His home was full of art and music, and endless sketches of the beauty of God's paintbrush.

Derrik often teased him for taking piano lessons. He was the schoolmaster's son, and preferred the more masculine subject of mathematics. Erik liked the architecture lessons Monsieur Allard gave them, because it seemed to be something he genuinely enjoyed. Derrik said that his father used to be an architect, and had aspired to run his own business, but that an accident at a building site had stolen the use of his left hand. He had given up his dream reluctantly after Susanna was born, and decided on the less extravagant job of schoolmaster.

Madame Allard had not wanted to move to the country, and would have preferred living in Orleans, at the very least, if not Paris, but Monsieur Allard had grown up in the nearby village of Artenay.

"Are you finished, Erik?" Madame Dessain asked, taking his plate without waiting for an answer. She set three cookies in front of him, smiling as he stared at them a moment before nearly inhaling two of them.

"Slow down, son," she scolded gently. "That's all you get for tonight."

"But Maman-"

"That's all," she said firmly, raising her brow.

Erik contented himself with the final cookie, chewing it slowly and painstakingly thoroughly to prolong the taste. And the inevitable. His bath. Then bed.

When his mother forced him up from his chair to help her carry water to the copper tub she sat in the kitchen floor, he tried to persuade her to let him go without.

"I swam tonight, Maman. That's surely good enough," he protested, knowing it was no use.

"Get in," she said firmly, handing him a bar of white soap. "Wash everything," she ordered, "including your toes."

"Yes, Maman," he sighed, stripping down and stepping into the heated water.

* * *

Madame Francine Dessain smiled as she left her son in the kitchen, and nearly laughed as she heard him immediately begin splashing water everywhere. She knew he did it to annoy her, but _he_ knew that he would have to clean it up, so he never made too much of a mess. She sighed in contentment as she settled back down near the window to begin working on the quilt she had started earlier in the day.

Erik had lessons tomorrow, as he did three times a week with Monsieur Talbot. She smiled, thinking of the young, attractive piano teacher. He really wasn't a piano teacher at all. Or hadn't set out to be. He was really Colin Talbot, a composer from London, but he had settled here a couple of years ago when he had first heard Erik tinkering at the piano at church.

He had declared the boy a musical genius, and for the last two summers he returned to France to teach Erik everything he knew about music. From theory to composition, Erik absorbed every word with the eagerness of a young Mozart.

And he had never charged them anything, although the people in town firmly believed that Madame Dessain paid Monsieur Talbot a great sum to stay and teach her son to play music. It was a secret known by only three living people in the world. Perhaps four, if Monsieur Allard had ever told his wife. But Guinevere had never said anything about the strange relationship she had with Monsieur Talbot, so she assumed that the secret would remain forever.

Francine lived alone with her son...but she _was_ married.

Monsieur Talbot was Erik's father...but not her husband.

And with her husband safely locked up in a tropical prison, somewhere near America, Francine often wondered why she didn't simply tell Erik the truth. The townspeople could go to the devil. She loved Colin. She always had, although his unfaltering propriety and constant forgetfulness aggravated her to no end.

After the brief affair she had with him...that had started twelve years ago, and had ended, ironically the day she had told him of her pregnancy...Colin had left for England, sending money twice a year for Erik, and for whatever she wanted to buy for herself. She had written to him three years ago, begging that he come meet Erik, on the premise of renewing his acquaintance with Monsieur Allard. He had written back, sternly refusing, and telling her quite cruelly he had taken a wife.

Francine's heart had been broken, but she had written again, offering the only thing she could...the promise of his son's musical talent.

Colin had arrived not six months later, leaving his new wife in England on the assurance that he would return soon. He had, in fact, stayed for three months of the summer, indulging in Erik's whims...teaching him things that no other child in the world had ever, or would ever learn from him. If he had never heard him playing in the church, he would not have believed with his own ears what potential the boy had.

He avoided Francine at all costs...and only spoke of music with the son he could not acknowledge. If anyone thought it odd that the two resembled ever so slightly, they did not comment. If anyone thought it strange that her husband, who was...or had been a soldier, never returned home on leave, they did not say anything. Certainly in the last year Erik had stopped his incessant questions about the man he perceived to be his father.

She was only grateful that her husband was not Erik's father. A wicked thing to say...considering he had been born in sin, and was a bastard...illegitimate...unacknowledged by his real father. And to the man he thought of as his real father, Adam Dessain, he was unknown entirely.

Erik thought of him as some hero, defending France with his very life, conquering worlds in the name of his country, of his emperor. Erik thought the three letters he had written his father reached him in some distant jungle, or a vast and empty desert. In fact, they had only reached Colin last year, when he had first appeared in Erik's life, on the ruse of being a music teacher.

Adam Dessain was no hero. He had been a soldier, yes, a high ranking officer, in fact. But he had committed treason against his country, by selling secrets to the Germans. So for the last fifteen years he had been safely locked away inside a military prison on an island in the Caribbean. Why they didn't just kill him was beyond her comprehension.

A terrible thing, yes, to wish for the death of your husband. How many nights had she cried, hoping to become a widow...especially when Colin had come along? Not once in fifteen years had she been beaten.

Not once.

With him in prison, she had settled into what she hoped was a peaceful, uneventful life. Then Colin had visited his friend and former university friend, Henri Allard. And Francine had been enamored with the dark, brooding Englishman. So enamored, that she had pursued him recklessly...and not told him once about her forced marriage to Adam Dessain. Not until it was too late.

Colin had been furious with her...he never wanted to compromise any woman...and to find out she was already married, it had devastated him. He had left without looking back...until she had written to him, begging him to meet his son. Erik wanted to know about his father, but she couldn't tolerate telling him anything about Adam Dessain. It was bad enough that they both had to use his name. She could not spout nonsense about a man she hated, even if Erik would never meet him. Even if he was locked away in prison for the rest of his life, and Erik continued to believe he was abroad, defending France...when France was not currently involved in any war.

As of yet, those problems had not arisen. As of yet.

Each day brought a new challenge, and already he had begun learning geography, his hands moving over maps in fascination, learning where Adam's regiment was supposedly stationed. It would break his heart to know the truth...that he was illegitimate...that the man he thought of his father was an evil, cruel man.

That the man who was his father probably wasn't capable of love, because he was so deeply involved with music, he was probably incapable of such an emotion. An affair between a hot blooded Frenchwoman, and a mild mannered Englishman had not turned out quite the way she had expected. Colin was everything she wanted, handsome, intelligent, gentle. Irritatingly distracted.

But those attributes did not make up for what she really wanted, and had wanted shamelessly for the last eleven years.

A man in her bed...who was not her husband...and, she was beginning to think...did not even have to be Colin Talbot.


	2. Ugly Ruth

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"I'm going to kiss Ruth," Derrick leaned over and whispered to Erik.

"What?" Erik's eyes widened, and he gaped at his friend.

_"Gentlemen."_

They both looked up to see Monsieur Allard staring at them reproachfully from the front of the classroom. There were seventeen children in the schoolroom, ranging from age six to fifteen. Two of them were his own, but he had never allowed either of them to be disruptive to the class.

"Yes, Monsieur Allard?" they both said in unison.

"Would you care to let the rest of us know what it is you are discussing during our history lesson?" he asked mildly.

Amid giggles all around the room, most notably his daughter, he saw both of the young conspirators flush guiltily.

"No," his own son said swiftly.

Erik Dessain's eyes were even wider as he mumbled his own refusal.

"I thought not."

He turned back to the board and continued drawing, as best he could, the supposed coverage of the Roman Empire. Another hard glance over his shoulder ensured that both boys were facing forward, attentive to his every word.

But after a few moments, Derrik began to fidget, staring at the profile of Ruth Kessler, who looked very pretty today with her brown hair tied back in a black ribbon. Her blue eyes slid over to look at him a moment, and she flushed prettily and smiled.

Derrik could not even manage to smile back before she turned her eyes back on his father. And when he swallowed the sudden painful lump in his throat, he became aware that Erik was smirking.

He could not resist jabbing his friend in the ribs painfully. He had not, however, accounted for Erik making a scene, and grunting painfully.

"Up front," his father said without turning around. "Both of you."

The class giggled more, to their mortification. As Erik passed Susanna, she covered her mouth with her hand, her blue eyes dancing, her blond curls bobbing frantically around her face. Derrik ventured a forceful tug that earned a shriek of laughter from her.

"Susanna, you as well," Monsieur Allard sighed. He finally turned to the class. "I was going to make _them_ write lines...but since it seems the discourtesy has extended now to everyone...you will _all _have to write them."

He made them all stand shamefaced in front of the class, while the remainder of them dutifully began copying lines.

"Shouldn't we begin writing, sir?" Erik whispered to Monsieur Allard.

"You will have to do it on your own time, Master Dessain. Right now you are to be displayed to your peers, as punishment for causing the disturbance."

Erik groaned inwardly. He had piano lessons today...and he had really wanted to go to the lake again. Summer was slowly dwindling away. School had merely started a week ago, and soon Monsieur Talbot would be returning to England. The thought of it was depressing, although he no longer needed lessons. It was merely the company of the man he enjoyed. He was kind, if a little stern, and always generous with his time.

But now instead of swimming, he would be writing lines...all because Derrik had been making cow eyes at ugly Ruth.

Ugly Ruth.

He almost said it aloud, but caught himself. He wasn't intending to be cruel, but he liked the name. And she wasn't really ugly...for a girl.

But to kiss her...nothing could be more disgusting.

It wasn't the first time Derrik had talked about kissing a girl. But Erik could not understand its appeal.

How...disgusting!

He turned his head slightly when Susanna touched his hand, looking down into her dancing blue eyes. He knew at once he was about to get into more trouble...but did not expect the little imp to poke him as her brother had. He grunted again.

* * *

"One thousand lines!" Derrik lamented, giving Susanna a stern look. "You couldn't leave it alone, could you Suzie?"

"Well," she pouted, "you two started it. I don't know why Papa won't let me sit with you. I'd keep you out of trouble! And you wouldn't be staring at Ruth all the time!"

Erik couldn't help it. He laughed.

"Tell him, Suz," he winked at her.

The next thing he knew, the breath was knocked from his lungs as Derrik tackled him to the ground.

"Oh," he laughed up at Derrik's furious face, "you aren't mad cause you want to kiss ugly Ruth, are you?"

"Take it back!" Derrik hollered in his ear. "I mean it!"

_"Ooof!"_

Derrik never gave him the chance as his knee bounced on Erik's stomach. But Erik was still laughing, despite the pain in his midsection.

"She's not ugly!"

He wrestled with the younger boy for a moment, until Susanna jumped onto his back.

"Leave him alone!" she screeched. "You're hurting him!"

"Suzie," he struggled to remove her arms from his neck. "Suzie!"

"Leave him alone!" she said again. "You're just mad cause you want to kiss ugly Ruth!"

Erik finally got up from the ground, concerned when he saw tears streaming down Susanna's face. Derrik stopped trying to free himself, and glared at Erik.

"You're lucky you had a_ girl_ to defend you," he sneered, with his sister still hanging off his back.

"Yeah, well at least I don't want to kiss one," he tossed back, and stepped around his friend to lift Susanna down. "You okay, Suz?"

She nodded pitifully. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," he smiled, giving one to Derrik as well. "He couldn't hurt a rat flea."

"Ugly Ruth," she whispered. "He wants to kiss ugly Ruth."

Erik grimaced, "I shouldn't have said that. It isn't nice, and her feelings would be hurt if she ever heard it."

"I don't care," she said petulantly. "I hope she grows a wart on her nose, just like that ugly witch!"

With that, she flounced down the road towards the cottage, not understanding _boys_ sometimes. Ugly Ruth! Her nose wrinkled in distaste. Why would anyone want to kiss a _boy_?

* * *

Erik and Derrik stared at each other for a moment. This wasn't the first time they had ended up on the ground, and would not be the last. Merely the first time it had been over a girl. Anyone other than Susanna, that is.

"Better get to your piano lessons," Derrik smiled mockingly. "So you can learn to play for all the little ladies. Or _like_ all the little ladies."

Erik scowled. "You don't know anything about music."

"I know _girls_ like it," he shot back.

"Well," Erik smiled a little, "maybe Ruth would rather kiss _me_ then!"

With that, he strode to his house to fetch his horse, not caring that his friend was shouting near obscenities at him. Monsieur Talbot was still waiting...and now he had to change his clothes before he could even leave.

His mother was not going to be pleased.


	3. Kissing is Gross

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

He wasn't sure why he'd ever become friends with Derrik Allard. Perhaps it was only their names that had drawn them together. His mother used to visit Madame Allard when he was younger, and he and Derrik seemed to naturally get along from the start.

Except for the occasional wrestling matches, which neither one of them ever won. It hadn't been the first time Susanna had interrupted their tussles. And amazingly, she usually defended Erik over her brother. Perhaps that was because those two fought each other as well, and Erik had never been mean to Susanna at all.

Since they had started school together at age six, people had paired them together, both with their names, rhyming as they did...and when they saw one boy, they saw the other. If it hadn't been for Derrik looking more like Susanna than his friend, one would have assumed they were brothers.

Derrik and Erik, always together. Either playing, or fighting, but always, always together.

Erik rode the five miles to Monsieur Talbot's house at a brisk canter, not wanting to punish his horse the entire way, but not wanting to waste a moment of the afternoon either. There was still hope that he could swim this evening, and Derrik would go, even if he was still mad at him.

When he knocked on the door, he heard the distinct sound of the piano, and he entered uninvited, because he knew Monsieur Talbot had not heard him anyway. He watched from the door of the music room as Monsieur Talbot bent over the keys, his dark hair wild around his face, a little too long for convention, he'd heard his mother say. He wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but he thought it must be something the gossips in the village didn't like.

If Monsieur Talbot did something the gossips didn't like...such as wearing his hair a little longer than normal...then Erik respected him all the more for it.

He listened to him playing a moment, the music beautiful...drawing him closer. He sat down wordlessly next to him and watched his long fingers flying over the keys. His eyes were closed, his head almost to his chest as he played...and like all the other times he'd come in here and caught him playing...completely oblivious to Erik's presence.

When his hand accidentally strayed to far to reach a key, and brushed against the boy's shoulder it caused him to hit a wrong note. He immediately stopped playing and frowned.

"Monsieur Talbot?"

Colin turned in surprise to see Erik sitting beside him, his eyes wide with apology.

"Erik, I was wondering when you'd get here."

Erik said nothing, knowing he was late, but he also knew Monsieur Talbot didn't know he was late.

"Ready for your lesson?" he asked, moving aside some compositions. "I wrote this one today. See if you can discover what I did wrong. I haven't revised it yet. That'll be your task for today."

Erik studied the notes for a moment, then began playing. Almost immediately he stopped and changed something, then began playing again. He did this four more times before he finished the song...then wordlessly began again only to change everything else he didn't like.

At last he played the piece thoroughly, and to his maestro's satisfaction.

"Well done," he said, patting him awkwardly on the back. "Well done, once again. Now this one."

Colin handed him another, and watched as his son completed the task, feeling a sudden tightness in his throat as the boy mastered yet another of his more complicated pieces.

"Is this all for today?" Erik asked, unable to hide his eagerness.

"Have somewhere you'd rather be?" he asked, feeling a little annoyed. He hadn't come all the way from England to teach him for an hour a day. He wanted more...but knew he must take what was offered.

"Susanna and Derrik got us into trouble today," he admitted. "I have to write lines...but I was hoping for a swim before dark."

"You went for a swim yesterday," he reminded him. "Aren't you serious about music, Erik? I don't offer my teaching skills to just anyone."

Erik bit his lip, feeling ashamed for wanting to go do something fun...when he knew his mother expected him to stay at Monsieur Talbot's until he was released.

"Don't you want to go to University, Erik? You could come to England...we have many fine schools. I went to Cambridge. Surely you'd like to go there?"

To his dismay, Erik shook his head vehemently.

"I want to be a soldier, like my father. Or an architect, like Monsieur Allard."

Colin's heart sank. All this time...this talent...to be wasted on soldiering._ "You are my son!"_ he wanted to shout._ "**My** son!"_

Erik's eyes lowered to the piano when he saw Monsieur Talbot's nostrils flaring in anger. He was prone to anger often...especially when Erik talked about being a soldier.

"You are released then, Master Erik," he said stiffly. "But next time I expect you to be here early, and you will stay late. I'm going back to England in less than a week. The summer is over, and my wife is expecting me home."

"Of course, sir," Erik whispered, sliding off the bench and heading towards the door.

"Erik!" Monsieur Talbot nearly shouted at him.

"Sir?" Erik turned to find his music teacher nearly off the bench, his hands clenching in anger until he sat back down.

"Nothing. Nothing," he muttered. "Go on, then. Enjoy your swim."

Susanna and Derrik were both already in the water by the time he arrived. Susanna didn't like to get her hair wet, so she merely waded in the shallow end, to much of a girl to even risk getting her dress wet. Derrik stared at him scornfully for a moment, "Music lesson over?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

The both ignored each other for several moments, diving under the water and finally ending up competing to see who could swim the farthest, stay under the longest.

Their slim youthful bodies cut through the water like razors, sluicing through the water and gaining such rapid momentum that they were constantly in a neck or nothing race. Susanna, as always, was the judge, and declared Erik the winner, as always.

"You're just saying that cause I'm your brother," Derrik complained. "I won, fair and square."

Erik hauled himself onto the bank and lay on the grass, panting softly from the race.

"I won, and you know it."

Derrik swam back out to the center of the lake, choosing to ignore his friend, and his rotten sister. Susanna always let Erik win. It was her way of getting back at him for all the mean things he did to her when Erik wasn't around.

"Erik?" Susanna asked, touching his leg from the water. "Will you help me out? I don't want to ruin my dress on the mud."

Erik sat up and grabbed her hands, hauling her out of the water and up the bank. Amazingly she didn't get too much mud on her dress, although there would be a grass stain on her knee.

"My brother's mad at me," she whispered, putting her chin on her knees.

"He won the race," Erik said softly. "You shouldn't have said that I did."

Her nose scrunched up, "He tattled on me for calling Ruth ugly. Papa scolded me."

"You shouldn't have said that about Ruth," he said with a sigh. "I shouldn't have either. I didn't mean it."

"Do _you_ want to kiss Ruth?" she asked angrily. _"You, Erik?"_

"No," he said hastily, giving her a look of fear. "I don't want to kiss_ girls_."

"And I don't want to kiss a boy," she said vehemently. "Kissing is _gross."_

Erik couldn't have said it better himself.


	4. The Incident With the Cow

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Former senior officer Lieutenant Colonel Adam Dessain stepped off the train in Paris, eyeing his city with disdain. The beard around his face was conspicuous, but most people would think he was a beggar. In fact, he nearly was. After escaping from the mosquito infested island, by bribing a guard with most of the money he had managed to steal over the last fifteen years, he had barely managed to afford passage off the island and back to France.

Yet, he was so close to freedom, and knew if he was caught he would be executed. He wasn't sure why they hadn't done so already...except his punishment had been exile, instead of death. He would have rather died than waste fifteen years of his life inside that tropical hell.

It reached a over a hundred degrees every miserable day, and when you were confined in a space too small to even stand in...to even be allowed the dignity of living like a human...it tended to make you a little crazy.

Death would have been better than life in prison. It would have been better than the last fifteen years of his life there.

At fifty one, he was feeling particularly old...and very vicious by the time he convinced the man at the counter to sell him a ticket to Orleans Department.

"My wife, you see," he smiled wickedly. "She's waiting for me."

Oh, Francine. He wondered what he would find when he returned home. If she had found the money he had earned by selling secrets to Germany, she had better not have touched it. Or if she did, she better pray he did not find her.

Oh, Francine. It had been too long since he had a willing woman in his arms. His wife never denied him. She had learned quickly. But now he didn't have enough money for a prostitute, and he was too old and haggard looking to attract someone young and pretty.

That lady in Rouen had found out quickly it was better to be silent and take what he was giving her, than to try and scream. By the time he'd made it to France, he had already rutted...or raped...whatever you liked to call it, three different women. Their cries for help had fallen on useless ears. Two of them had not survived. The lady in Rouen wished she hadn't.

And now, Adam headed to Orleans Department to find his wife, Francine. She'd know just what he needed. She always had, or rather, she had learned.

* * *

"Francine?"

She turned to find Guinevere Allard behind her near the gate at the garden.

"Guinevere," she smiled warmly. "How is your day going? It's beautiful outside, isn't it?"

"It's ungodly hot," she complained, twirling her ridiculous parasol above her head.

Out of all the places for Guinevere Allard to have to inhabit, Francine wondered why it was this one. She hated the countryside, hated that her husband was a schoolmaster, instead of the promising architect he had been.

Madame Allard loved opera, and theater, and anything that involved shopping and sightseeing.

She was always preening over Colin when he came to visit, and it irritated Francine to no end. The only reason she visited the Allard residence was to see Colin, although he had avoided seeing her this summer by avoiding the Allard's.

"Your dress is very lovely today," Francine commented, meaning it.

Madame Allard's dresses were always lovely. She lamented over the fact that her daughter preferred to spend time with boys instead of playing dress up for hours like she had done as a girl. Francine adored Susanna, and would have given anything for a daughter just like her. She would have been a perfect sister for Erik, and already was in many ways.

"Thank you," Guinevere returned, but did not say it in kind.

Francine knew her dress was slightly rumpled, and she was very dirty. She'd been trimming her roses, something she was sure Madame Allard just did not do. Monsieur Allard's life would have been much easier as a schoolmaster, if his wife wasn't so high strung.

"Have you seen Derrik and Susanna?" she asked haughtily.

"They were headed to the lake, last I seen them."

Madame Allard rolled her eyes, "I told Susanna she was to stay inside today. She ruined her dress yesterday by playing in the water. And Derrik tore his pants, fighting with _your_ son."

Ah, Erik's fault, as always. She really didn't like Erik. If he wasn't such a close companion to both her children, then they would pay more attention to her. At least that's what she thought.

Undoubtedly her children paid more than enough attention to her, but as Francine had often heard her say to Susanna when she wanted affection, "Not right now, Susanna. Mother is tired."

"Well, if I see them, I'll certainly send them your way," she said lightly, then turned back to her roses.

Madame Allard eventually left, deciding apparently that Francine wasn't worth staying and talking to, and she should snub her before Francine did.

Later when the children came running by the fence, Francine stood and snagged Erik's hand, looking at the three soaking wet troublemakers with dismay.

"Your mother is not going to be pleased," she said to the Allard children.

They tried unsuccessfully to retain laughter. That was the problem with them...and she thought they caused far more mischief than her son ever thought about.

"Go on up to the house," she said gently. "I'll do my best to repair you before I send you home."

Giggling like mad, they all three ran toward the house. She really didn't want to know what mischief they had caused, but found out quickly enough, after they had been dried off, been given a cookie apiece, and sent home.

Rene Vallee came by, his hat in his hands, "I don't want to get them in trouble, Madame," he sighed wistfully, "but they pushed my poor old cow off into the lake, and now I can't get her to come out."

"She's...stuck?" Francine asked slowly, trying to hide a smile.

"Oh, no," he said quickly. "She just doesn't want to come out. She's quite content...but it's getting dark, and I need milk in the morning. I hadn't meant to let her wander so far off, and by the time I found her, they was all three pushing her into the water," he paused, then smiled, "well, the Allard children were pushing. Young Dessain was pulling on her halter."

"Oh, my," she said, trying not to laugh. "Well, I'll send Erik down to get Young Allard, and maybe those two can get her out."

"I appreciate it, Madame," he doffed his hat, bowed, and left the yard ungracefully.

"Erik!"

"Yes, Maman?" he appeared from behind the wall in the sitting room.

"You heard everything?" she questioned, tilting her nose in the air.

"Yes, Maman."

"Do as I said. Make it quick, and apologize to Monsieur Vallee."

He nodded and fled, and she covered her hand with her mouth, once again to stifle laughter.


	5. Aureo

Disclaimer: I do not want to own Phantom of the Opera

"Do you think the stars will ever fade?"

Erik snorted at Susanna's innocent question. "How can they fade? They've been there forever."

"How do you know?" Derrik asked, staring up at the sky.

"I know everything."

They were all lying on a blanket in the Allard's back yard. Erik's mother had agreed to let him spend the night, as long as he returned in time for church in the morning. It had been Susanna's idea to come out here and look at the stars. Monsieur Allard had given his permission, provided they could find three constellations. One for each child, and describe it, and give a fact about it.

"An astrology lesson," he had said gravely, although it amused him that Susanna was leading both boys around by the nose.

His daughter had a way of getting what she wanted, especially from Master Dessain.

"Well, I choose Capricornus," Derrik finally said.

"Why that one?" Susanna asked, turning her eyes to the constellation Erik had pointed out for her. He had pointed out all of them, actually.

"It's the sea goat. I think Papa will find it amusing."

"I want Scorpio," Susanna sighed. "I think scorpions are fascinating. They sneak up on you," she whispered, leaning over toward Erik's stretched out torso, then dug her fingers onto each side of his ribs, "and attack!"

"Hey!" he protested, trying to squirm out of her grasp, but her relentless little hands poked him again. "Suz-"

He finally freed his hands and tickled her, until she scooted behind her brother for safety.

"I'll stop. I'll stop!" she protested, ducking behind Derrik.

Erik lay back down, looking up at the stars, and the beauty and infinite distance ahead of him. He wondered how high the stars were, and if his father ever looked up at them. As a soldier, his father would know how to read the sky, just like a map, which is why he had learned. So he would never be lost.

Sometimes he felt as if his father were lost, in the enormous world...so vast and huge that not once had he ever been able to make it back to him and his mother. It upset his mother to talk about him, so he had stopped asking the last few years...but it did nothing to appease his inquisitive mind. He was jealous of Derrik for having a father...and Monsieur Allard was kind to him, and treated him no different than Derrik. He'd even been punished just as Derrik had, both at school, and in the Allard's home. He'd also been hugged, and patted, just like Derrik and Susanna, although Susanna was often swept up into her father's arms and tossed into the air.

He wondered what that would be like.

Sometimes Madame Allard even scolded them, but he knew for some reason she didn't like him. If Derrik and Susanna left her alone with him for any amount of time, she would send him home, even if his friends were going to be back at any moment.

"Which one do you want, Erik?" Susanna whispered, moving closer to him.

"Draco."

He didn't explain...it was foolish, especially at his age. If he had Draco, or the dragon, he would use him to find his father. He'd fly into the sky and seek out whatever foreign land his father tread on...and swoop down beside him, then perhaps take him home for his mother.

They all three stared in silence at the sky, looking into the vast twinkling heavens above. The only way it could have been a more perfect night, was for a wishing star.

Susanna hoped for one, but it never came.

Monsieur Allard stepped out the back door and called to them.

"It's bedtime. Susanna, gather the blanket and fold it for your mother. You know she doesn't like disorder," he said, ushering them into the house.

"Can Erik read me a story, Papa?" Susanna asked, dutifully folding the blanket and placing it over the quilt rack.

He sighed, "I suppose. But only one. And," he gave Erik a hard look, "no more witches. No more goblins. Nothing scary before bedtime."

"Papa!"

"That's the rule, Susanna. You know you get scared too easily."

She flushed, angry and embarrassed. She didn't want Erik to think she was a baby, but Erik winked at her a little, and she puffed up, knowing it would at least be a little scary.

She flounced out of the room, blond curls bouncing with each lighthearted step she took.

While she dressed for bed, and Derrik raided the kitchen for a cookie, Erik stepped into Monsieur Allard's library and picked up an architecture book, studying the column orders with diligence.

"Going to take my place, Master Erik?"

He looked up to see Monsieur Allard leaning in the doorway.

"Sir?"

"Monsieur Talbot visited me earlier today, and said you were an aspiring architect. He seems to think it would be a waste of your talent, musically speaking, of course."

"I might want to be a soldier," he said noncommittally. "Or an architect."

"It would be nice for someone to follow in my footsteps," he mused. "Derrik has no aspirations for architecture, although he has the head for it. He wants to be a scientist, or a mathematician, not that its a bad profession."

"I'd like to visit Paris," Erik said wistfully. "I've never been, and I want to see the buildings...the streets. Napoleon changed the entire city to suit him."

"Well," he said dryly, "Napoleon did a lot of things to suit him. One must remember that even the Emperor needs to remember moderation is the key to everything."

He started to place the book back on the shelf, but Monsieur Allard stopped him. "Keep it." He pulled three more books off the shelf, "And these as well. Study them...and I will make a lesson for you, just on arches and columns."

"Thank you, Monsieur Allard."

"Now, I believe you have a nice..._safe_...story to read my daughter," he said with a smile. "Don't keep her up too late, Master Erik."

"Yes, sir."

He walked down to Susanna's room, wondering if he should tell her a story he made up, or one that her father would approve of. Susanna always liked the scary ones, and she did get scared, but as long as Erik stayed with her until she fell asleep she never had nightmares.

She was sitting in bed, her knees tucked up around her chin and arms clasped around her legs. Derrik was sitting on the end of the bed, chewing on a cookie his mother probably wouldn't have let him have. But she was asleep. Always, before sunset, the woman would retire for bed. Erik didn't understand why anyone would want to miss something as perfect as a sunset, or beautiful as the night.

"What are you going to tell me?" she whispered, her blue eyes wide and excited.

This was when he most liked Susanna, because she really liked his stories, no matter what he told her. For some reason, storytelling came naturally to him...he had always been able to make something up in his mind, without ever having to put it on paper. Maybe he should be a writer, instead of a soldier.

"I'm going to tell you," he thought for a moment, and closed his eyes, "about the _dragon_."

Even Derrik stopped eating as he begun the tale about Aureo, the dragon, who sailed the skies in search of a noble knight to lead him.

"Aren't knights supposed to fight dragons?" Susanna interrupted, frowning at him.

"Aureo isn't an evil dragon," Erik sighed. "Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Oh, yes. Please."

She sat back, attentive and wide eyed, hoping he would continue.

"Aureo roamed the whole world, looking for the knight with the crest of the griffin. He searched everywhere, frightening people below in the cities. They thought he was an evil dragon...but really, he wanted to defend the great country of France against the forces of darkness...and England. But no matter how far he went, no matter what hardships he endured, the noble knight remained elusive. Finally the dragon returned to his cave one day, disappointed and ready to give up his search. He made his way into the cave," he lowered his voice, and drew his arms in a wide circle to indicate how large the cave was, "and there sitting inside was the knight. He too, had been searching for the dragon. One who could take him places, so he could fight against the forces of darkness...and England, and who could protect him and return him safely home to his family. The knight and Aureo bravely fought together, and the king was so pleased with them, that he gave the dragon one thousand acres surrounding his home...so that no one would ever disturb him, and gave the knight one thousand acres right next to it, so they could see each other as often as they wanted. And sometimes," he whispered, leaning in next to Susanna's wide face, "on warm summer nights...just before sunset, you can see them returning home from a battle. Aureo's red face shines like the light from the sun, and his eyes are as bright as two coals in the hearth. And the knight is always with him, as brave and fierce a soldier as any...and they will never be separated again."

"Oh," she whispered, her mouth opening in child like wonder. "That was pretty, Erik."

"Pretty?" he snorted, giving Derrik an embarrassed look. "I don't tell _pretty_ stories."

She merely smiled and snuggled down into her blankets. "You don't have to stay with me till I sleep. That wasn't scary at all."

"Goodnight, Susanna," he said dryly.

"Goodnight, Aureo."


	6. True Evil

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"Why are you here?" Colin demanded, when he saw who was at his door. He thrust her back outside, "I told you, we can't communicate with each other. I'm married now, and I, for one, took my vows seriously."

"Colin-"

"It should be Monsieur Talbot," he interrupted coldly. "I have tried to avoid you, _Madame_ Dessain, but at every turn you try and contact me. Do you want Erik to discover the truth? Or would you like him to live the lie you have created for him...that his father is a noble soldier, defending France? I warn you, if the truth is revealed, I will take him to England with me, and hope I never see you again."

"Oh, you are so cruel and self righteous," she shouted at him. "How dare you? You are not the one who carried him...nursed him...took care of him all these years. You wanted nothing to do with him then, and now you think you can take him?"

"Keep your voice down," he snapped, pulling her into the house.

It was what she wanted, after all.

"I love you, Colin. You're leaving in the morning...I just wanted to see you one more time-"

"If you loved me," he said quietly, "you would have told me the truth. That you were married...and I would have found some other way..." he broke off suddenly, glaring at her malevolently. "No. I cannot change anything, so there is no use reflecting on it. You need to leave. I hate to break off my ties with Erik completely, but if you keep trying to see me, I will have no other choice. Erik is my son. You are nothing."

Her heart cracked open, and she started to cry. She hadn't wanted to make him angry, but every time she even tried to talk with him, he made her hate him that much more. Francine loved him...and she also hated him.

She had given Erik permission to stay at the Allard's, and had not intended to ride out here to see him. She really hadn't, but she had felt so alone...she thought she could just come out here to talk with him. They could discuss Erik, music, the _weather_, if it pleased him.

But damn him, and his useless sense of propriety. He wouldn't even shut the door behind her, so they could talk in private.

"Will you see Erik before you leave?" she whispered.

"Our last lesson was today. He did very well, and I see no need for further instruction."

"You and your music!" she spat. "I'm not talking about seeing your student! I'm talking about your son!"

His eyes, usually so gentle and passionate filled with sadness. He nodded his head slightly, "Yes, if I could acknowledge him, I would see him as my son. Right now, it is simply too painful to pretend I am anything. I think I will tell him someday, Francine. And I hope he can forgive me, for doing what I think is best for him now. I hope he can forgive me for merely being a musician, when he thinks his father is a brave and fierce soldier. If only he knew the truth, right dove?"

"I'm sorry," she said, her face softening. "I never wanted this to spiral out of control this much. You have no idea what a monster Adam is. I do thank you, though," she said gently. "Thank you for showing me that a man...some of them anyway...doesn't have to be cruel, to prove they are masculine."

"Fran-"

He started to reach for her, but she recoiled. If he touched her, she would die. Surely she would die!

"No," she said sadly. "You're right. I must go."

She turned and fled into the night, scrambling onto the back of her son's horse and raced into the darkeness towards home. The half hour ride did nothing to calm her tangled heart, to ease her troubled mind.

She put the horse away and climbed the steps to the house, her hair in a wild nest about her face. Colin had no trouble breaking her heart. He hadn't done it intentionally...she had broken his first. But he shouldn't have married...she felt he did it for spite, and she hated him for that as well. If he had listened, she would have gladly divorced...she would have even considered moving to England, of all places. But instead he had left...and severed all ties with her, forcing her to make up the story of Adam, and elaborate to her son what a good man he was.

There had never been a bigger lie told.

She climbed into her bed, all alone, wishing that strong arms were there to hold her. The brief affair she had with Colin had not lasted nearly long enough, and she had taken no other man to her bed since. It was the only joy she had with a man.

Certainly Adam had never given her any. Fear, loathing, terror.

Those were words that described her marriage to him.

She hadn't wanted to marry him, but her father had forced her before he died. Not only was he older than her, he had fought at Waterloo and Napoleon for heaven's sake, but he was also cruel. He had attained Lieutenant Colonel rank, but never went any higher because the army probably feared he was unsuitable to command a regiment. Then he had sold those secrets, but it had been four long years after they finally _uncovered _the traitor, that he had been found. Hiding in the cellar here, like a rodent.

That's exactly what he was, too, a filthy rat.

She had been married to him those four years he had gone into hiding...and had wanted desperately to point at the boards beneath her feet and shout, _"He is here!"_

Instead, he had given himself away by going into town one evening. The soldiers had brought him back to the house to say farewell to his wife, and all he'd told her was, "If you find it, Francine, I'll come back and kill you."

At the time she hadn't known what he meant, but a year before she met Colin she had found the money hidden in the cellar, and had lived on it well the last fifteen years.

Eighteen years after he betrayed his country, he still had a small fortune. And it had become hers when they had taken him. Hers and Erik's. She felt she deserved it, after all he had done to her.

Beatings...so many beatings...but they were nothing compared to what he forced her to do sexually.

True evil did exist, and it's name was Adam Dessain.


	7. Goodbye

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik smiled as he came out of the church, looking at the man waiting at the bottom of the steps.

"Monsieur Talbot! I thought you were leaving!" he laughed, and latched his arms around the man's waist.

Francine and Colin shared a long look over the boy's head, Francine suddenly in near tears, and Colin close himself.

"I am leaving," he whispered, kneeling down beside the boy. He willed his hand to stop trembling as he touched Erik's cheek for a moment. "I couldn't leave without telling my favorite student farewell, now could I?"

Oblivious to the adult drama playing out around him, Erik rolled his eyes. "I'm your _only_ student!"

"Of course you are. Of course," Colin said tightly, his eyes flickering up to Francine for a moment. "I-I want to speak with your mother, Erik. Come back in a moment and send me off proper, right?"

"Right," Erik grinned and chased after Derrik and Susanna.

He watched his son leave with the exuberance that only a child could master. It hurt...it hurt last time, it hurt this time, and he suspected it always would hurt to leave his child behind like this. He wasn't a very passionate man...not with people anyway. But with music, the only thing he'd ever truly loved, he was consumed by it. It fed his every desire, eased all his pain.

Music would heal him from this loss, as it had last time. Colin wondered if his son would ever know that all his music was inspired by him.

"Thank you," Francine whispered, swallowing hard to keep tears from forming.

"I...I didn't want our last lesson to be the only memory," he sighed. "If he ever finds out...I don't want him to only remember the music. I want to have at least something else to share with him. He may very well hate me one day, you know."

"No, Colin," she stepped close, then realized where they were, and stepped back.

No one was looking at them, but the last thing she needed was fuel for gossip.

"He won't hate you," she said solemnly.

"You don't know that, Fran. He has very different ideas about who," he looked around a moment, "about who his father is. Tell him...if he finds out somehow...tell him that I do want him. Promise me that one day, you'll let him come to England, even if just for a visit. Even under the ruse of me being his teacher. Promise me," he said softly, his eyes tortured and full of pain.

"I promise," she finally said, taking in his face, his tall form. He was all long arms and legs, his dark hair longer than usual, his green eyes full of life, as always. He was the most handsome man she had ever met.

But he would never be hers.

"I'll be back next year. Make sure he practices every day, piano _and _violin. Make sure he keeps working on his compositions, and for God's sake try to convince him not to be a bloody soldier."

He worked himself behind that mantle of composure he was so good at, hiding everything he thought and felt, and continued giving instruction for Erik's music lessons. Francine listened with half an ear, too enamored with the sound of his voice.

"Of course," she finally said, when it appeared he was through.

He turned, spying Erik near the horse rail, and turned back to Francine for a moment. "This is goodbye, then, Fran...Madame Dessain."

"Goodbye, Colin."

He hesitated a moment, and sighed wearily, "If things had been different, Fran, I would have married you. You are a good mother, and despite the history between us, I think you are still a lady. But I love my wife, and I will not dishonor her, or my marriage."

He turned and left her, not quite able to miss her hand half reaching to him, and not quite able to stop his heart from reaching back. He made his way to Erik, placing his hand on his shoulder as he spoke to him.

"Erik, I've given your mother some final instructions on your lessons. Practice while I am gone, and I _will_ see you next summer. You're doing a fine job. Obey your mother, and I...I hope you have a good year," he said softly, avoiding looking directly into his eyes. "I really must be going, son. I have a train to catch, and I'm running late as it is."

"Goodbye, Monsieur Talbot," Erik said, wondering what had upset his music teacher. Before he could ask, Monsieur Talbot was striding away towards a waiting carriage at the front of the church house.

It was only later on the train when Colin realized what he'd said.

_Son._

Just once, he'd called him son.

Colin finally managed to release the tears he'd been withholding for so long.

* * *

Francine watched as the three children raced ahead of her on horseback. It was no use trying to call them back. Erik and Derrik would try to out ride Susanna, and would succeed, since she still rode a pony that would only grudgingly trot. Colin leaving had been painful, but she was coming to respect him more for being faithful to his wife. She didn't have to like it...or his wife...but at least he had principles and stood by them. 

It didn't make it any easier, and only made her love him more.

She wished she could find a man who could see past everything...see past Erik, knowing he was illegitimate, see past her husband...who was in prison. See past herself, for never being the strong independent woman she should have been, once Adam was taken away. Francine felt that she had wasted all these years, pining after a man that would never admit he had made a mistake.

He should have married her...she should have divorced Adam.

Things were far too complicated though, for a man like Colin. He liked the least amount of disruption in his life as possible. But at least she knew he loved Erik. At least he had come to see him before he left.

It didn't make it any easier. And she refused to fall more in love with a man she could never have. She would _not_ cry again over him. _Somehow _she was going to pick her life up, and start fresh. Somehow, she would tell Erik the truth, and hope he understood. Then she could divorce Adam...not for Colin, but for herself. For Erik. So that he could see his own father when he pleased...and not as his music teacher. She would do it so she could be romanced again, the way Colin had done her...sending her flowers, even playing romantic songs for her.

As irritating as he was, he had charmed her completely.

She looked up to see Erik racing back to her, "Maman, can I go to the lake? Please?" he asked, his eyes begging, his lungs working heavily as he waited for her answer.

"Have I ever said no?" she asked dryly. "But be home in time for supper. Tomorrow you have school."

"I love you, Maman," he grinned, and spun his horse around before she had a chance to say it back.

"I love you, Erik," she murmured, although he was too far away to hear. And at last she felt she could say the words with conviction, "Goodbye Colin."

Perhaps now she really could forget him.

Susanna gave up trying to catch up with her brother and Erik, and stopped in the middle of the lane and waited patiently for her.

"He just isn't fast enough, is he Susanna?" she smiled at the picture perfect little lady on the picture perfect white pony.

"He's old," she lamented, patting his neck. "Papa says I shouldn't ride him all the way to the village, but he can't buy me another for a little while."

"Well, if your Papa doesn't mind, you can ride Petunia here," Francine said, rubbing the mare's neck. "She's the perfect ladies horse."

Susanna eyed the mare eagerly, "Really? Honest?"

"Honest," Francine said, laughing at the joy in her blue eyes.

Francine had the feeling, not the first time, that she was looking at her future daughter in law. The girl was so enamored with Erik, although he was completely oblivious. He thought she let him win those races at the lake to annoy her brother. He was only partly right. Susanna thought Erik was just simply wonderful. She'd told Francine before, and she had contained her laughter somehow.

Yes, the boy was going to have trouble with this one. Francine only hoped she continued to be more like her father than her mother. Erik still had a few years of his innocence left...he was only eleven, Susanna eight...but she knew these carefree trips to the lake would end soon. Derrik was simply not a suitable chaperone, and Francine could tell he was already interested in girls.

Erik had already begun complaining of his friend wanting to kiss Ruth Kessler.

"Madame Dessain?"

"Yes, Susanna?"

"Why doesn't my mother like Erik?"

Why indeed? She suspected Madame Allard thought that the truth about his parentage lay with Monsieur Allard. That Henri Allard was his father. Even if he had ever told her the truth, no doubt she didn't believe_ Francine _could ensnare Colin. Not when she was clearly prettier, dressed better, and knew more about music and theater.

Francine glanced at Susanna, who was biting her lip, and looking clearly worried. She could no more burden this girl with her dislike of her mother, than she could with the truth about Erik.

"She...she...," she struggled to think of something suitable to tell her. "She likes him, dear. She just wants all your love and kisses for herself."

Probably not quite appropriate, but if Madame Allard was making it that clear she didn't like him, she could explain herself.

Susanna's nose wrinkled, "Like I would ever kiss Erik! Ew! Kissing is _gross_."


	8. Return of Dessain, and Mortal Fear

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Adam stepped off his stolen, lathered mount and walked into a tavern, ignoring the stares from the patrons inside. He sat at a table and scowled until a barmaid brought him some whiskey, wanting desperately to pinch her arse as she sashayed off. He'd found the time to shave, although he couldn't do much for his clothes. The bastard he'd stolen them from, the horse as well, hadn't been much better off than he was.

Dust covered every inch of his exposed skin, his clothing as well. August was a miserable time to travel, although it wasn't half as hot as that damn island. The waves had driven him insane. Listening to the incessant roar of the sea was enough to drive a man to commit murder. And he had, often.

Swallowing his drink quickly, he demanded another, and another, until his throat was pleasantly numb, as well as his mind. He would have sat there content, for the remainder of the day if he had not spied Rene Vallee cross the room and greet a man at the bar.

"Rene?" he slurred loudly. "Rene Vallee?"

The man turned, surprised, and Adam scowled at the look of disgust on his face.

"Monsieur Dessain," he said stiffly. "It has been awhile, has it not?"

"Sure, sure," he muttered, wishing he had not said anything.

"Have you been to see Madame Dessain?" he asked politely. "And Young Dessain?"

"Young Dessain?" he looked up, his eyes narrowing.

"Why, Erik. Your son, of course. I caught him and Monsieur Allard's children pushing my cow off into the lake the other day."

He stared at the man for a moment, the words not quite reaching his brain...until at last they did.

A son?

Adam stood, feeling as if the air in the room had heated a thousand degrees. She had never told him...never written to him. Not once. She should have told him! He felt fire creep up the back of his neck, and his hands clenched in sudden rage.

A son.

Christ Almighty.

Adam pushed the older man out of the way, going out to retrieve the already exhausted horse. He jerked the reins roughly, uncaring that the beast's mouth was already raw and bleeding, and kicked his ribs viciously, running full speed the entire five miles to his old home. The horse tried several times to stop, but fearing the lash of the man's hand again, he struggled to please his rider, and carried him until he was allowed to finally stop.

Adam leapt from the mount again and drank in the sight of his last home in France. He hadn't wanted to live here. He grew up in Paris. But to please his damned wife, he had moved to the countryside. It _had _been easier to hide out here, though.

It appeared the house was empty at first as he crossed the threshold into the clean and orderly home he had been taken forcefully from fifteen years before.

And it looked as if she had redecorated. She'd better hope that money was still there.

But he could hear her...she was in the kitchen, and he could smell her cooking as he advanced to the room behind the dining area. The door swung open just as he was moving around the table, and a small blond girl came out of the kitchen, flour and apron covering her entirely.

She stopped and stared, blue eyes wide an innocent.

"Who are you?" she whispered, edging towards the kitchen.

Adam stared at the girl, suspicion immediately entering his black heart. "Adam Dessain, mademoiselle," he said softly, glancing at the door. "I'm...I'm...,"

"Erik's Papa!" she exclaimed, a smile lighting up her face. "I'm Susanna Allard. He's my friend!"

Susanna moved towards the man shyly, wondering why he looked so angry. He didn't look anything like Erik. He was big, mean looking, and scary. His eyes weren't like Erik's. They looked almost black...she stopped smiling and a tremor of fear moved her back the tentative steps she had taken towards him.

"Do you want me to find Erik?" she asked quickly, eager for an excuse to be away from this man. "He's at the lake. Madame Dessain was teaching me to make cookies."

"Yes, why don't you do that?" he asked, a cold smile touching his features. "Run along."

"Susanna? What's taking so long?"

The door pushed open, bumping Susanna in the back, but she scurried around it to go behind Madame Dessain's skirts. Francine glanced down at the girl cowering behind her.

"What are you doing?" she frowned. "Did you find the-"

"Hello, Francine," Adam interrupted, enjoying the shock of fright on her face as she looked up.

"Adam."

Somehow the word did not make him feel welcome. His eyes narrowed as he approached her, giving a scathing glance to the girl hiding in her skirts.

"How about a kiss, dear wife? It has been awhile, has it not?" he asked softly, leaning in towards her.

To her credit, Francine did not flinch. She felt cold...numb. This was a dream. A terrible dream, and she would wake from it. Surely it was a dream...or another nightmare.

Yet, she could feel his lips on her own. He reeked, the familiar smell of whiskey. She cringed inside, but she did not show it. Somehow the four years she had been married and lived with him had not left her.

And then suddenly, she thought of Erik.

Oh, God. _Erik._

Adam moved away from his frigid wife, "I'll be in the cellar for a moment. Don't come down here, do you understand?"

She nodded, "Of course."

It didn't even occur to her he was going for the money. The money that was no longer there.

As soon as he was out of sight, she scribbled a hasty note to Monsieur Allard, and handed it to Susanna. She took the girl by the shoulders and squeezed so tight she thought she might leave a bruise on the girl's arms.

"Give this to your father," she said urgently. "Tell Erik he is to go there...go to your house...and he is not to leave for any reason. Until _I _come to get him. Do you understand, Susanna? This is important. Erik _cannot_ come here. Do you understand?"

Madame Dessain was scaring her. She had been right. Erik's Papa _was_ scary. She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. Erik was not to come here. She wouldn't let him.

Francine lifted her head as she heard Adam coming back up the stairs. She turned her eyes back to Susanna, "Run, Susanna. Don't stop until you reach your father."

As she heard Susanna flying out the front door, her husband appeared at the top of the stairs, a forgotten, but familiar look of fury on his face.

"Where is it, Francine? Where's all my money?" he shouted, wrapping one hand around her throat and lifting her into the air. "My money," he shouted again, "and my son! Where is _Erik?_"


	9. Secrets

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

* * *

A/N: I accidentally wrote part of chapter 7 in first person, so you may want to go back and reread it. Sorry, and **shame** on all of you for not catching it! I had to figure it out all on my own! If I do it again, just tell me, because I'm finding it hard to stay out of first person since my last 3 stories have been written in that POV. Thanks!

* * *

Susanna flew down the lane towards home, her long blond curls tearing on the hedgerow as she pumped her petite legs faster, hoping that Madame Dessain had been laughing when she left the yard...and not screaming. She hadn't gone back though, even when she heard the noises from inside the house. Fear pushed her towards the safe haven of her father's arms, and at last the cottage came into view, like a beacon of light in her suddenly frightening world.

"Papa!" she screamed before she even made it to the door. "Papa! Papa!"

Her father opened the door when she began pounding on it. For some reason she couldn't remember how to turn the latch, and she sobbed when it wouldn't work for her.

"Susanna?" Henri looked at his trembling daughter and felt terror enter his heart. "Susanna, what's wrong? What happened?"

His eyes searched the forest in front of their house, in the direction of the lake.

"Where are the boys?"

She opened her mouth, but could not speak, and finally raised a shaking hand with Madame Dessain's note. He snatched it from her hand and read it quickly, paling when he read that Adam was back, and Erik was to be kept at his home until she could come for him.

"You came from Francine's?" he asked quickly.

She nodded frantically, "S-She was making cookies," she whispered, then began to cry. "I think he hurt her...I...Papa, he looked mad."

"It's alright," he murmured, knowing it wasn't. Too often he had seen Francine with worse than bruises on her face, on the few times she had been allowed to leave the house. "Where is Erik and your brother?"

"Lake," she whispered, looking up at him with enormous blue eyes.

He picked her up and held her to him, "It's alright, Susanna. Everything is fine. Madame Dessain was probably just surprised to see her husband after all this time. Now, why don't you go visit with your mother for a little while, and I'll go down to the lake and see the boys," he set her down outside her mother's bedroom. "Go on," he whispered, and nudged her through the door. "Guinevere," he called, "I'm going to get Derrik. Keep Susanna with you."

His wife's lovely head peered out from behind her changing screen. It never failed to amaze him how often she changed her dresses every day.

"I'm busy, Henri. Send her outside to play."

"Guinevere," he said quietly. "Monsieur Dessain has come home to see his wife. Keep Susanna inside."

Her eyes widened, and for once she agreed with him and didn't argue any more.

"Come here, Susanna. We'll play dress up," she called cheerfully.

Susanna looked at her father doubtfully, knowing he had never forced her to endure her mother's dress up unless he wanted her occupied.

"Bring Erik here," she said softly, fearing that his Papa was angry with him too.

"I will," he promised, and left her to her mother's tedious game.

The boys were in a giant birch tree that hung over the blue water, their long legs dangling down towards it, some ten feet below. When they saw him, they pretended like they hadn't been intending on diving from it, and scrambled down the trunk with an agility he couldn't help but admire.

He feared for Master Erik's safety. If Adam Dessain found out about him...if he found out that _Colin_ was his father...he feared for both Francine and Erik. Adam hated the British with a passion. He had fought against them at Waterloo, and before that in the Peninsular Wars. He'd barely been Derrik's age at that point, but from all accounts had fought bravely. The rumor was that something inside Adam Dessain changed when he went off to war.

He became first bitter...then violent. And the violence had been all that sustained him throughout his life. It hadn't surprised him that Adam had sold secrets to the Germans. It had been eighteen years after Waterloo that he had been caught, and Francine had told him once after Erik was born that she had found his profits from the treason.

Francine had debated on turning it in or not, but it had been such a large amount...and she had Erik to think of. She decided to keep it, knowing if she turned it in that the government would probably line their pockets with it anyway. And Adam would never know.

Well, he was here now. And he would be looking for that money.

"Hi, Papa," Derrik called cheerfully, glancing back at Erik who was finally getting to the ground. "Where's Susanna?"

"With your mother," he said slowly. He then turned to Erik, "Your mother sent me a note, Erik. She says she has been feeling unwell, and that you are to remain with us until she can come for you. She thinks it's contagious, but nothing serious, and doesn't want you to get sick as well."

Nothing could have delighted him more. His face lit up, and he nudged Derrik in the ribs. "See, I didn't even have to ask this time! And on a school night!" he crowed.

They both turned to untie their horses and walked beside Monsieur Allard back to the cottage, bickering over who would read Susanna a story this time. Henri let them argue. At least it would keep their minds off the real reason why Erik had to spend the night. And he would do his best to keep Erik and Susanna separated. She couldn't keep a secret, and he almost dreaded asking her to try.

Perhaps he should send her down the road to stay with a friend.

But as he approached the cottage she came flying out, her eyes fixated on Erik, and she launched herself into his arms.

"What are you doing?" Erik demanded, nearly losing his balance, and trying to calm his frightened horse. "Stop it, Susanna," he snapped, clearly annoyed with her.

"Erik-" she began, but Henri picked her up and muffled her mouth against his chest.

"Hush, girl," he whispered tightly. "Hush, right now."

She squirmed to be free of his grasp, and he swatted her across the legs one time.

"Be still," he said sharply. "You boys go put your horses up. Susanna, you go in the house and help your mother with dinner."

"But Papa-"

"Now!"

He set her on her feet and pushed her towards the cottage, then pointed his finger towards the stable, "I want you to clean every stall in there," he said sternly, "punishment for your bickering. Now go."

It wasn't the best excuse he could come up with, but it seemed reasonable with such short notice. He hadn't wanted to deal with Susanna so quickly, and he no doubt had sent her into a screaming fit inside the house.

As he stepped through the door, he saw that he was not mistaken. Guinevere looked bewildered as she held her wailing child, looking at Henri in confusion.

"What's wrong with her?"

"I told her to stay inside, did I not?" he said quietly. "She didn't listen, and nearly caused Master Erik's horse to bolt."

Again, not the best excuse, but what other reason did he have for hitting his child. He was doing it to save Erik a lot of grief. He still wasn't sure if he should go and see if Madame Dessain was alright. His wife was jealous enough of both Francine _and _Erik. Not matter how many times he had told her that Colin Talbot was Erik's father, she refused to believe him.

As if _he_, Henri Allard, were a more believable candidate. It did not escape his attention that his wife was every bit as enamored with Colin as Francine was. If it hadn't been his wife, he might have been amused at the subtle, snide remarks they made to each other when Colin was around.

"Susanna, go to your room. I will speak with you in a moment."

"Fine!" she turned around to scream at him, her face red and tear streaked. "You're mean! Just as mean as Erik's father!"

She fled down the hall to her room, slamming the door.

"Was that necessary, Henri?" his wife asked sharply. "Disrupting our evening over drama with Madame Dessain and her son?"

"You know very well what Adam is capable of," Henri said softly. "Erik is not his son. If he sees him, Erik will receive the first beating of his life, and I fear that with one hand, I could not possibly help him."

Guinevere's eyes looked down to her husband's useless hand with disdain. "It isn't our concern. They are merely neighbors, nothing more."

She dared her husband to call her a liar. It would give her great satisfaction to scream at him in rage over his obsession with this boy. It was always about _Erik_. Erik is going to be an architect like me, he had told her proudly time after time, until she had been sick of hearing it. Erik wants to travel and visit great and beautiful buildings, just like me. Guinevere had disliked that boy the first moment his mother had brought him over. She had disliked Francine the very moment she had laid eyes on her.

"He's only a child," Henri said quietly. "He doesn't deserve what he will receive if he goes home. He's staying here, and you will keep Susanna out of his way. She will _not_ tell him that his father is home. Do you understand?"

"It's always about them!" she shrieked, and stormed down the hall to her own room. "Go to hell, Henri! And take the whole bloody lot of them with you!"


	10. The Devils' Due

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Francine's legs dangled in the air as Adam held her by her throat. The words that had come from his mouth nearly caused her heart to explode in fear. She latched her hands around his meaty wrist, but to no avail. Such tactics had never worked on him before, and never would. Women were merely a rag doll in his hands, to use at whim, and cast aside when he was through taking his pleasure.

She had no idea what had kept her from conceiving with this man, but could only be grateful that she never had. He was a disgusting pig, and as much as she longed to spit right in his face...she had to protect her son.

At all costs, she had to protect Erik.

"I c-can explain," she gasped, trying to speak was merely painful. "P-please Adam. Please."

He released her, letting her fall all the way to the floor. A boot in her stomach ensured she didn't remain there long.

"Where's my money? And Erik?" he demanded again.

Her mind raced, wondering how he knew, and how much he knew about Erik. He was stupid...but not so stupid as he couldn't figure out that fifteen and eleven are not even numbers.

"I had to use it," she whispered. "To survive. I'm sorry. You can sell the house...get most of it back...the furniture...everything. Please don't hurt me. _Please_."

He backhanded her across the mouth, causing her to stumble and crash into the elaborate sideboard filled with pristine dishes. No doubt purchased with his money.

Glass shattered onto the floor, and she fell, her back striking the remnants of half a dozen plates. The shards tore into her flesh and she grunted and whimpered as the pain shot through her.

"Where is Erik? Why didn't you tell me about him, you little bitch? I would have gotten out a lot sooner. And I'll sell everything in this house, including you if I have to. I didn't want to have to liquidate _anything_, wife. I wanted to take my money and leave, but you," he growled and hauled her back up to face him, furious when she wouldn't look him in the eyes. He struck her again, "You had to spend my money. I told you before I left not to touch it, didn't I? Didn't I?" he roared, gripping her chin painfully and making him look at her.

"Y-yes, Adam," she whispered, tasting blood in her mouth. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry, what?" he yelled, his eyes narrowing at her.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"That's better," he smiled suddenly, and brushed the glass off her body. "That's much better. Now...where is Erik?"

Francine swallowed blood in her mouth, and nausea. She had to distract him...and it sickened her. There was only one way to divert his attention...there always had been. Lying beneath him was better than being beaten, because he never knew when to stop. As long as he wasn't hitting her, her mind was able to drift into thoughts and dreams, and she could forget the man who she hated with her entire heart.

It had been fifteen years since he had climbed on top of her and used her body. It had been eleven since she found out what gentleness and love meant.

She wanted a man in her bed, did she not? Now she had one.

Forcing a smile on her face, and feeling cold and dread everywhere, she slipped behind the mask that had been gone for so long. It did not reach her eyes, but Adam never noticed, and never cared.

"I wanted us to have a night alone. Surely you don't want to spoil our reunion," she whispered, her hand surprisingly steady as she set it on his shoulder. "It's been so long, Adam."

His eyes narrowed, but his blood raced. A reunion? Yes, that sounded nice. It had been too long since he had a willing woman. He preferred them willing, especially now that he was older. It took great effort to subdue one at his age.

"Yes, Francine," he said with a gleam of fire in his dark eyes. "It has been far too long, hasn't it?"

Hate in her heart, but a smile on her lips, she led him upstairs.

* * *

He had passed out, as he always had after his seed had been spilled. She rolled away from him and off the bed, pulling her dress to rights back around her body. Making her way down the stairs, listening to his snoring, she tried to hold in the sobs that tore through her body.

"Francine?"

She jerked around and nearly screamed, her mouth wide with horror. Had he brought home a friend?

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"It's Henri."

He stepped out of the shadows near the stairs, his mouth parting when he took in her bruised, bloody face, and the look of cold, utter defeat in her eyes.

Francine stepped away from him, "You shouldn't be here. Go home. Go make sure Erik doesn't come here. He'll kill both of us."

"What about you?" he asked softly. "I heard him up there...he was hurting you, wasn't he?"

Mortified beyond reason, she started to cry. "You shouldn't be here, Henri. He's my husband...it's his right."

Anger propelled him to her, and he gripped her arms gently. "No man has a right to force himself on a woman. Not even a wife."

"H-he didn't force me," Francine whispered, her eyes vacant and mind numb. "I went willingly, to distract him from Erik. He has to be safe, Henri. He's all I have. I-I can't let anything happen to him."

Adam's snores upstairs paused for a moment, and they both looked up, waiting breathlessly until they started again.

"Please, you have to keep Erik away from here."

"How long, Francine? How long do you think I can manage that? I told him you were sick, but I can only keep Susanna from him for so long. He's going to find out," he sighed. "I...I have a pistol," he lowered his voice. "He's asleep. It-"

"No."

"Francine-"

"That's murder, Henri," she said quietly. "And not even a fair one."

"Do you think he'll give you half a chance? When he finds out, do you think he's going to care about what is _right_ or_ fair_?" he said roughly, pointing at the shattered glass covering the floor, and touching her lips with his finger. "He's going to hurt you...and he's going to hurt Erik. It's only a matter of time."

"Go away," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut tight. "Keep Erik from here...and go away."

"How much money do you need? How much was missing?"

He pulled a bundle of bills from his trouser pockets and deposited them on the table beside the stairs.

"That's all that is left of my last...my last architecture commission."

She scooped it up and handed it back to him, "I can't take your money. He already knows...and he doesn't seem to be concerned about it half as much...God, Henri, somehow he knows about Erik," she looked at him with wide eyes, and finally tears emerged as she realized that even if she kept Erik away from him, there was nothing to keep him away from Erik.

"Do you want me to send him to Colin?"

Her heart began beating again. Colin. She had nearly forgotten about him.

"Colin? Yes," she said urgently. "Send him to Colin. Tell...tell him...," Francine broke off, realizing she wouldn't even get to say goodbye to her son. "Tell him I love him, but I'm sending him for instruction. For music. Send him to Colin."

"I cannot persuade you to leave?"

She shook her head sadly, "No. I have made a bargain with Satan himself, and he always collects."

Henri left, curbing every instinct inside him to rush upstairs and put a bullet in Adam Dessain's head, and drag Francine home with him.

He only hoped she had made her peace with God.


	11. Something is Wrong

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna cried long after her father left. She was frightened and confused, wondering why her Papa had hit her leg, and why he'd snatched her out of Erik's arms. She had wanted to tell Erik that she met his father. She wouldn't have told him that he scared her...because she knew how much he wanted to meet him. She knew the story of Aureo had been about Erik and his father, not about some silly dragon. But Erik hadn't liked it when she called him Aureo in front of Derrik. Her brother had teased him, and Erik had wanted to sock him right in the eye.

"Susanna?" her father knocked on her door and entered. "Are you still crying, sweetheart?"

Susanna snuffled and turned her head to face the wall. Of course she was still crying. Her mother had told her that she couldn't even leave her bedroom. Susanna didn't know what she had done wrong.

Henri shut the door behind him and sat on the edge of her bed, "I'm sorry Susanna. Erik wasn't supposed to know about his Papa coming home. It's...it's a s-surprise," he said softly.

And it was...for all of them, although not what he would call a pleasant one.

She sat up and looked at him, her eyes widening, "A surprise?"

"Y-yes...and you nearly gave it away. But...," he swallowed heavily, knowing that he was going to break his daughter's heart, "Erik is going to go visit Monsieur Talbot for a little while. He's going to leave in the morning, and when you see him, you still are not to mention his father. Do you understand?"

Susanna's lips trembled. She couldn't lie to Erik. He was her friend...and friends didn't lie to each other. And Monsieur Talbot had gone home to England. She thought that England was far away...but Erik couldn't leave her. He couldn't go all the way to Monsieur Talbot's, if he was in England.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why can't I tell him, Papa?"

Henri's throat tightened, wanting desperately to tell her it was to keep Erik safe. But then his daughter would be frightened, just as he was...and Erik wouldn't understand why he would need to stay away from his father. Henri blamed Francine for all of this. She should have taken the money and disappeared, changed her name, gotten a divorce...told Erik the truth, if that was what it had taken. Being burdened with the knowledge that he was a bastard would be an easier thing to live with than thinking a monster had sired him.

"You just can't, Susanna," he said firmly. "No matter what, you must not tell him. Do you understand?"

Her fears from earlier in the day came rushing back, and she blinked away fresh tears.

"He hurt Erik's mother, didn't he?" she whispered. "I heard him screaming...I heard her screaming, and it sounded like someone fell. I ran, Papa. I was scared."

He nodded, though he didn't look at her. "You did the right thing. You are not to visit Madame Dessain anymore. No more, Susanna. Promise me."

"_Papa."_

Her hands reached out to wrap around his arm, his useless left one, and he shifted onto the bed with her, wishing he could wrap his daughter up the way he wanted to.

"Promise me, Susanna. Do not go to Madame Dessain's house."

"I promise, Papa," she cried softly against his neck.

He feared for his daughter's safety, as well as his own family's. Adam had spoken to Susanna today. He knew Erik was acquainted with her...he knew they were friends. If he set one foot into their yard, he would be shot. He had no idea what level of cruelty the man was capable of, but if one hair on his daughter's, or his wife's head was damaged, he would kill the man.

He wanted to kill him anyway, although he had never taken a life before. He'd never even seen anyone die, although he had seen a dead body on a construction site before. It was not pleasing to look at, or to smell.

"Go to sleep, Susanna. And stay in bed tomorrow morning. Your mother can walk you and Derrik to school, and I'll get a substitute to cover me in my absence."

"Absence?"

"I cannot allow Master Erik to travel alone. Someone has to keep him safe. Now sleep, child," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

He held her until he was sure she slept, his heart heavy with yet another secret...another thing he must keep from an innocent child. If anything happened to Madame Dessain, he would not hesitate to tell Erik the truth. He wouldn't even consult Colin. No child deserved such an obscure life. Especially not one with as much promise and potential as Erik.

* * *

"Monsieur Talbot?" Erik's brow furrowed. "Mother didn't say anything to me yesterday."

Henri hesitated, carefully picking his way to an explanation that would make sense, knowing there was none. Erik's only hope was Colin, but in no way would he understand why he was being sent off. He didn't want to tip him off, as he had done with Susanna.

Erik shook his head, backing away from his horse. "No. I must speak with my mother first. This makes no sense."

No, it didn't. And it was too much to hope for the boy to be at least a little dumb.

"You must go, Master Erik," he said firmly. "Your mother has asked that I get you on the train this morning, and you must not be late."

Erik's chin raised, an act of defiance that he often displayed to his mother, but never to Monsieur Allard. "No."

"Erik-"

"There's something wrong," he whispered. "Mother wouldn't send me to Monsieur Talbot. Not alone, and she would be here if it's what she wanted. Something is wrong."

Monsieur Allard's eyes betrayed him, and Erik felt scared suddenly. His mother was hurt...or something else...but it was about his mother. He stepped back towards his horse, his legs unsteady as they tried to reach the stirrups, but Monsieur Allard pulled him away, "No. You have to stay with me. You don't have to go to Colin's, but you must stay at my house. Your mother is sick...she has a fever, but she will be fine in a few days."

He lifted Erik with his one arm and set him on the ground, but the boy instantly tried to fight him and move back to the horse.

"Let go!" he shouted. "Let me go, this instant!"

Monsieur Allard only succeeded in frightening the boy more, and with one arm, he had no chance of stopping him. He clamped his good hand around Erik's wrist and pulled him toward the house. The boy immediately began screaming, his heels digging into the earth, his cries striking Henri's heart with fierce pain. He would done better to have sent him to school, and kept Susanna at home.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly, but didn't dare loosen his grip. "Please, Erik. Trust me."

Erik sobbed, his face streaked with tears, his mind numb with fear and confusion. "I did," he whispered, staring at the ground. "I did trust you...but why are you doing this? Please, sir, let me see my mother."

"I'll bring her to you," Henri said suddenly. "Will that satisfy you?"

Erik immediately stopped moving, his eyes wide with fear, "You will? Please, sir, I must see her."

"Will you stay here, Master Erik? Stay here, and do not even come outside, for _any_ reason, and I will go get your mother."

"What's wrong?" Erik whispered, not understanding why Monsieur Allard was acting so strangely.

"There...there are rumors of thieves in the area," he lied hastily. "Thieves, and they are dangerous...so you must stay inside. Promise me."

"I promise," Erik said solemnly.

He pushed the boy inside and mounted Erik's horse, heading for the Dessain house. He only hoped that Francine was able to hide the bruises, and that she would be allowed to leave.

Adam was sitting on the porch when he arrived, looking sullen and far older than he had when he'd been hauled off to prison. He smirked when he looked up and saw the schoolteacher riding up his drive.

Monsieur Allard, a coward who hadn't even fought in the war. A useless man who wouldn't even pursue his own dreams.

"Henri," he greeted him coolly. "Why aren't you in the classroom, where my son is supposed to be?"

So Francine had lied to him. He thought Erik had gone to school this morning.

"I have a substitute for the day," Henri said evasively. "I thought we might talk about Erik for awhile. About his lessons...his dreams...he thinks he might want to be a soldier."

"He's fifteen," he said, spitting tobacco between the horse's legs. "Too old for lessons. He should already be in service if that's what he wants."

A curtain fluttered behind Adam's head, and he knew Francine was listening.

Henri dismounted awkwardly, "Is Madame Dessain available? My wife has taken ill, and wanted me to ask her if she could go over for a moment. Some woman thing...," he lowered his eyes to the ground, hoping to hide his dislike for the man. "...always complaining of something or other. She says Madame Dessain knows some recipe to cure her."

He snorted, "Fine. As long as she returns home immediately. Francine!" he bellowed. "Get out here."

She appeared immediately by the door, "Yes, Sir?"

"Go over to see Madame Allard," he grunted, "then get back over here before Monsieur Allard gets tired of waiting for you."

Francine glanced at Henri, and he nodded his head slightly, "Yes, Guinevere was supposed to get on the _train_ this morning, but she fell ill. Would you mind going over and checking on her? I don't know...some woman thing," Henri repeated, swallowing as he told another lie.

"Of course," she whispered. "May I borrow...y-your horse?"

He handed her the rein's to Erik's mount, and watched as she bit her lip and climbed on awkwardly. Her eyes told him how much pain she was in, and he looked away as her jaw clenched, and her hands trembled. She hooked her leg around the horn and arranged her skirts, and rode towards his home at a crawl.

"I said you'd better make it quick!" Adam shouted at her.

Immediately she urged the horse into a canter, although it must have cost her a great deal of self control not to scream. He only hoped Erik would accept whatever lie she told him about the fresh blood on her lips, the bruises on her neck and jaw, and the ripped and bloody dress she was wearing.

He only hoped Erik didn't take one look at her, and immediately know that something really _was_ wrong.


	12. Thinly Veiled Wickedness

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Guinevere returned from walking her children to school feeling greatly irritated. They always walked with Henri when he left, but since he had to take _Erik_ to the train, she had been forced to rise earlier to take them herself. And apparently would be taking them every day, as well as walking to the school to make sure they made it home until Henri returned from Colin's.

Her lips curved into a regretful smile. She should have volunteered to take Erik, instead of letting Henri do it. The thought had only occurred to her, and she was sorely remorseful that she had been snappish and cruel to Henri.

When she opened the door to her home, she heard a sound behind her, and turned to see Erik crying in Henri's chair. Her brow drew into a frown, "Where is Henri? Why aren't you on the train?"

Erik looked up at her, the picture of childlike pitifulness. "He said I didn't have to go. He's going to get my mother," he whispered, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "Do you think she's alright? Henri f-frightened me this morning. He was going to make me leave."

Irritated more, that he wasn't gone, and grateful that perhaps there was still a chance she could take him to England herself, she smiled coldly.

"Your mother is fine, Erik. I'm sure Adam is taking excellent care of her."

Erik stared at her for several moments, uncomprehending. Who was Adam? he wondered, and why was he taking care of his mother?

His father's name was Adam.

Guinevere watched with chilly satisfaction as realization dawned in the boy's eyes. Now Francine would really be eager to send him off. Francine would put him on a train without hesitation and send him to Colin, and the boy would be out of her hair for good.

"My father?" he whispered. "My father is _here_?"

She merely smiled, and turned away. It wasn't her fault if the name had slipped out, was it? Henri could hardly blame her for accidentally mentioning the man's name.

She would have continued her wickedness, if Francine had not knocked on the door. Erik flew to the door and opened it, and she looked in horror at Francine's battered face. A moment's guilt was all she felt before Erik blurted out, "My father is here! Why didn't you tell me, Maman?"

Erik's heart was so filled with joy and excitement, he failed to noticed the pain in his mother's eyes, or the horror as she looked at Madame Allard. He didn't see the purple bruises on her throat, or the state of dishevelment that was beyond decent.

"He's not," she whispered through her split lips. "Who told you such a thing?"

Her eyes met Guinevere's and she felt white hot rage at the look of shame on Guinevere's face.

"He's here," Erik insisted. "I'm going home, right this instant. Why were you sending me away?" he demanded. "That was terribly rude of you, Maman. I'm not taking music lessons anymore. I don't need them. All I want is my father!"

He flew past her to his horse, not hearing Francine scream as she tried to reach him and failed. Francine's broken ribs prevented her from racing after him. Her weakness cost her precious minutes, and Erik had already dug his heels into the horse, and tore out of the yard in the direction of home.

"Francine-"

"You _bitch_," Francine whispered over her shoulder. "How could you? How could you do this to him? To me?"

Silence was the only sound from the house, right before the door closed and she heard Guinevere lock it behind her. She staggered forward, cutting through the trees towards the house, barely able to breath from the pressure against her lungs. She had to reach Erik. She had to keep him safe. The thought of him being struck pushed her forward, terror in her heart as she continued.

Guinevere was going to pay dearly for what she had done. The only thing saving Erik had been Colin, and now that was lost as she caught sight of her son's horse entering their drive.

Terror was in her heart as she stumbled out of the trees near the house. She could see Henri's arm around Erik's shoulders as he visibly restrained the boy from moving farther. Adam's face was simply dumbstruck as he stared at him.

"How old are you?" he demanded.

"Eleven, Sir."

Adam looked up as he saw Francine's frightened face approach the porch.

"Eleven," he said slowly, his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. "Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. _Fifteen_," he said softly. "Interesting, to say the least."

"Sir?" Erik asked, confusion evident in his tone.

"Come give your father a hug, Erik," he said with a wicked look in his eyes.

"Erik...," Francine called to her son, but he was already disentangling himself from Henri. "Erik, come here."

"Francine," Adam admonished her. "I haven't seen my son, and you're going to reprimand him in front of me? That isn't wise, dear wife."

Erik continued moving towards his father, and at last felt his arm around his shoulders. His father knelt beside him, a grim and slightly frightening look on his face.

"Well I daresay it is a surprise to see you so soon. Your mother informed me you would be in school today," he said in barely concealed derision.

Erik glanced at his mother then, and saw for the first time the bruises on her. He looked back to Adam, not understanding. "I was going to see my music teacher," he said, although he did not explain where.

"Music?" Adam snorted. "Music is for fools and women. Soldiers don't need music. Now get your arse down to the schoolhouse with Henri, where you belong. I'm going to have a word with your mother about...about a surprise I have for you."

"Surprise?" he asked eagerly, although he was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"Oh yes," Adam looked up to Francine's whitening face, "a surprise. For both of you."

Henri tried to take Erik's arm and move him away, but one glance from Adam stopped him. He knew Adam probably suspected that he was Erik's father. The truth wouldn't be any better. If he knew an Englishman had bedded and impregnated his wife, there would be much more than a beating that she received.

"Adam," Henri licked his lips, and tried to take Erik's arm again.

"Get out of here, schoolteacher," he said in a dangerous tone. "Take the boy with you."

"Take him," Francine whispered, moving to stand behind Henri. "Take him, Henri, please."

It was not easy to get Erik away from Adam. Erik was confused by the hostility in the man's voice, even if his actions had been deceptively kind. But Henri had seen the rage in his eyes. The wickedness he already was plotting. Somehow he would get Erik to the schoolhouse, and return to the Dessain residence. With his pistol, this time. He only hoped he was not too late.

However, when he walked past his cottage, the sight of his children in the yard shocked him.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Why aren't you in school?"

"The substitute couldn't contain us," his daughter said merrily. "The class was disruptive, so he sent us all home."

Henri stared at his two unruly children in fury. "The entire class will be punished," he said tightly. "Starting with you and Derrik."

Susanna's eyes widened, "We didn't do it, Papa. It was the Vallee boys. They put the cow in the schoolroom while the substitute was in the outhouse."

"I'm sure they had no help," he said, tightening his hand around Erik's shoulder. "All of you, inside."

"Mama won't unlock the door," she said, indicating Derrik who was trying to pry it open.

Henri strode to his wife's bedroom window and pounded on it. Immediately she appeared, looking out at him in shock, then he saw her dart out to open the door.

"Oh, Henri, I thought Adam had come here," she whispered nervously. "Did you see Francine's face?"

"Guinevere," he interrupted, turning his head to look at Erik. "Keep the children inside."

He went into his library, his wife following and watching as he took his pistol and loaded it.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "You're not getting more involved in this, Henri."

Henri turned to see three pairs of eyes watching him. "Go to your room," he ordered them, "Erik, you as well."

"Monsieur Allard?" Erik looked at him questioningly, then at the gun.

"Take them, Guinevere," he said quietly. "Take all three of them."

"No!" she shouted, "I'll not allow you to intervene. That is _his _wife, not yours!"

"Be silent!" he snapped. "At once!"

When he turned back around, only Susanna was left staring at him. Her round blue eyes were fixated on her father's gun, which she had been sworn never to touch. He never took it out unless there was a snake.

"If he beats her for giving him a bastard, I don't blame him," his wife whispered cruelly. "I hope she learns that it isn't wise to spread your legs for every man you meet, if you don't know how to prevent conception."

For the first time in his life, he nearly slapped a woman. Only his daughter still standing there prevented him from doing so. He couldn't believe the filth that came from her mouth, and she had said it in front of Susanna.

"Susanna, go with your brother to his room."

"He didn't go to his room," she whispered. "They left. Out the front door."


	13. The End of the Dream

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

* * *

Warning: this is a _violent _chapter. Hopefully I can complete this terrible tragedy with one chapter, because I do not care to demonstrate the brutality that is most certainly going to take place. Especially to children. Sorry, but a warning is all I can give you.

* * *

The boys ran all the way to Erik's house, Erik's mind in a whirl of fear and uncertainty. Why was Monsieur Allard taking a gun? The man who he had trusted all his life was behaving irrationally, and he wanted to return to his mother.

Derrik followed.

"What's wrong, Erik?" he panted, chasing his friend.

"My f-father's home," Erik tossed back, his legs tangling in brambles as he cut through the woods. He clenched his fists and moved his body faster, nearly losing Derrik as he darted through trees and bushes to reach his home.

He heard his mother screaming before he even saw the house. The sound stopped him in his tracks, and he stared in frozen horror as he listened to the terrified sounds she was making. He vaguely saw Derrik shoot past him, and detachedly began running behind his friend.

Derrik vaulted up the porch and through the open door, pausing as he listened to the sounds coming from upstairs. Erik joined him, his eyes wide and full of terrified understanding.

"He's hurting her," he whispered to his friend. "Why is he hurting her?"

Derrik shook his head, and continued shaking it.

Neither one of them had ever seen or heard of anything like this, but it was with a sharply diminishing innocence that they recognized what was happening.

"Please," Francine's voice came from above, a garbled and strangled sound that nearly was inaudible. Her long and low moan of pain followed, then the sound of her flesh being stricken.

"Whore! You useless, bitch. I should have killed you before I left," Erik heard his father say, then his mother scream again. "You took my money...lied to me...you little slut. You're going to pay, Francine. Then your son's going to pay. Do you hear me?" Adam demanded, "Are you listening? I'm going to take care of both of you, Francine. Then I'll get rid of Henri Allard, and the rest of his brood. No one practices deceit on me and gets away with it. Especially not some damned, cowardly schoolteacher."

Derrik's face was pale with fear, until he heard the man speaking about his father. He moved past Erik to the stairs, leaving Erik in frozen fear near the door.

A man was leaning over Madame Dessain's body on the floor. She was bleeding from her mouth, her eyes black and swollen with bruises, and her fingers clutching at the two hands wrapped around her throat. Her legs kicked the floor, and her body twisted until the man brought his knee onto her stomach and held her in place. He raised one hand and struck her again, and suddenly Derrik was jumping onto the man's back.

"Leave her alone," he yelled, his small arms catching the man by the throat. Adam staggered backwards, but was able to stand, thinking Erik was the one who had tried to assault him. He removed the hands quite easily and swung the child through the door in the hall, surprised to see not Erik, but a blond headed boy with blue eyes that rolled back into his head.

Erik scrambled up the stairs towards his mother's bedroom. He had heard Derrik yelling, and saw him lying on the floor outside the door. His friend did not move when he touched him. Derrik's head did not raise when Erik shook him. Then he turned his head to look inside the room. His mother was also lying on the floor, spitting blood and gasping for breath. He never saw the boot that came down on his chest, knocking him backwards beside his friend.

"You sniveling little brat. You should have gone back to the school," he heard his father yelling at him.

Erik grunted, trying to breath, but the boot had knocked the air from his lungs.

He didn't understand. He didn't understand. Why was his father doing this? Why, God, why? He tried to get to his knees, but felt a hand grab onto his hair and drag him up.

"Please, Sir," he whispered, looking up into monstrously evil eyes. Why hadn't anyone told him his father was mean? Why did he hate him so much?

He watched as his father calmly pushed him down the stairs, and felt his head strike the steps numerous times. He felt his wrist snap, broken, and then two of his fingers as well. Screaming, he reached the bottom and lay in agony, until the pain made him vomit, and he succumbed to darkness.

Adam went back into the room, seeing the blond kid still out, seeing his wife still groaning in pain. Compassion and remorse never entered his heart. Love and respect for another human was not in his mind as he knelt beside Francine and strangled the life from her.

Her dying word was Erik's name, whispered through broken teeth and bloody lips. Her final wish, was that somehow God would protect her son, and the friend that had tried to save her.

The only thing she saw as she died, was pure evil.

Adam did not hesitate as he emptied his wife's jewelry case, and fled down the stairs. He only hesitated a moment before lighting a single lantern, then hurling it at the landing of the stairs. The runner immediately went up into flames, flying towards the second story of the house, and down to the unconscious boy lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

Erik immediately woke when he felt the flames lick his face. He rolled in pain away from them, but not far enough, and began screaming as they touched his face again. Dimly he heard the sound of gunshots, but in such acute terror as he saw the fire, and felt it finally overtake him, he did not realize that Monsieur Allard had finally arrived. He did not realize it, until he heard Monseiur Allard screaming his name, and Derrik's name. The fire continued to chase him across the floor, the pain so intense now that screaming was no longer possible. Panic and shock overtook him, and in mute horror he twisted and writhed until a blanket was placed over him, smothering the flames.

Henri covered the burned flesh and picked Erik up, taking him outside into the harsh sunlight. He laid him in the grass.

"Where is Derrik?" he shouted, "Erik, answer me!"

The boy moaned in pain and twisted again. Henri stared at the rapidly consumed house. Francine and Derrik must be inside.

"No!" he roared, "No! God, no!"

He ran past Adam Dessain's dead body straight into the house, but the stairs were falling away from the wall. He searched the lower house frantically, but there was no one. They must be upstairs, he thought desperately. But no! They couldn't be! His son could not be upstairs!

Then he heard a sickening sound, followed by Susanna screaming.

His daughter was looking in mute horror at her feet, and his stomach revolted at the sight of his son's burned body that had fallen from the upstairs window. She began screaming again, her blue eyes staring with tears streaming down her face.

Screaming. Screaming.

He raced towards her and picked her up, catching sight of his wife stumbling from the woods. It was the first time he had ever seen fear on her face. She didn't even look at him as she went to Derrik's body.

"My baby," she whispered, "oh no. No, oh, no. Not my baby. Not Derrik."

"Guinevere, take Susanna," he whispered hoarsely. "Do it now."

She finally turned to him, her eyes losing all its light. Mechanically she took her screaming daughter and carried her home.

Henri sobbed over the body of his son, until he heard Erik behind him beneath the blanket. Erik was moving. He was alive. He turned away from Derrik's body, and unwrapped the blanket. His mind was already too horrified to recoil at the sight of Erik's ruined flesh. Too numb do anything other than cry. He would have wept over the boy forever if he hadn't begun moaning in pain.

Neighbors began arriving while he gathered the boy in his arms and took him to his cottage.

_"What happened?"_

_"Henri, what's going on?"_

He ignored them all.

"Get me a doctor," he said quietly.

He carried the boy into Derrik's room and laid him down. His son was dead. His flesh and blood. His only son. He looked at the face of young Master Erik, burned all down his right side, and up the side of his head. The damage concentrated around his right cheek. It would be a miracle if he didn't lose his eye.

The doctor arrived and tended him, but Henri was too numb to do anything other than go into his daughter's bedroom and hold her as she cried. She held him as well, and he allowed the guilt and blame to overtake him. His son was dead because he had not protected him. Francine was dead, because he had not taken control, and done what he should have when he learned Adam was back.

Now, Adam Dessain lay in front of his burning house, with his wife trapped inside while he had four shots to his chest. Henri had shot him without blinking, not stopping in satisfaction as the man collapsed to his knees.

As night fell, a neighbor came by to tell him that he had taken his son's body to the church, and that he would arrange for several men to help him, so he and Guinevere would not be burdened with the task.

Henri merely nodded, holding onto his daughter. His lifeline to comfort. Derrik was gone. Nothing would bring him back.


	14. Gypsy Ghost

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

* * *

That last chapter was hard. Really hard. I'm struggling to write in this POV, since I've stuck with first person for so long, and hopefully I will get better. I've debated writing this story about Erik's entire life, but I don't think I will. It will be much easier to do it in flashbacks and memories. I won't be covering the theater fire itself. I think after this chapter, or the next, we will skip forward to about a year after the fire. Hopefully you will continue reading my story. It has a point. I'm almost sure of it.

* * *

Erik didn't wake up for nearly four days. Derrik had already been buried...Susanna had not gone to the funeral. The idea of it had sent her into another fit of screaming, and she had cried that the face would come back for her. She was having nightmares about Derrik's face.

Henri was having them as well.

Guinevere had not said anything at all. She merely sat in her room and did nothing. Said nothing. She had not gone to Derrik's funeral either. Only Henri had gone, surrounded by neighbors and the children he had seen in his classroom for the last twenty years. They had offered sympathy, filled his house with food, taken care of every last detail, including the burial of Francine and Adam Dessain.

Without consulting him, they had been buried side by side. No one had gone to see Adam at the double funeral they held for the Dessain's. Everyone had gone to see Francine. Whether they knew her, or they were morbidly curious. Not much had remained of her body. Someone had taken the jewels from Adam's pocket and given them to Henri, although he could not recall who had given them to him, nor where they currently were.

No one questioned him about his account of the shooting. No one asked him much, really.

And no one had been to see Erik, except for Henri himself and the doctor. He locked the door behind him when he was in the room, and also when he was out of it. The boy developed a fever and had to be sedated, although it was quickly brought down by the good Doctor Mansard.

Nothing, he said, could be done for his face.

His wrist was set, as well as his fingers, and the doctor left him with something to heal his flesh. Time seemed to be suspended as he waited for the boy...for Erik...to awaken. Erik had nothing left, except Colin.

A letter was already making its way to England, although Colin wouldn't even get there for several weeks.

And when Erik did wake up, he was quite alone. Henri was gone to his son's grave site, that he visited every evening. Erik woke up, and felt the supreme pain in his face first. He touched it, his heart plummeting in fear when it touched something strange. His face felt very odd.

Erik tried to sit up, but groaned as his head moved. He hurt everywhere, but it was his head that hurt the most. Then he began to remember.

His mother. The fire. Derrik. His father.

He was in Derrik's room, but where was Derrik? Where was his mother? Fearfully, he also wondered where his father was.

He finally managed to stand, swaying dizzily from the pain, but he made it to the door and opened it. Susanna's room was across the hall. He could see her sitting in bed with her back to him, and he shuffled farther into the room.

"S-"

He tried to speak, but the pain in his face forced him to stop. He didn't need to. She heard him, and he watched in bewilderment as she turned to him and immediately began to scream. Her mouth opened wider as he moved towards her, holding out his hands.

"Sus-"

"Not the face!" she screamed. "Make it go away, Papa! Make it stop!"

Susanna watched as the face came at her again. The burned face, it was coming for her. It was reaching out to her. She cried and scrambled to the floor, propelling herself beneath the bed.

"What in the world?" Guinevere stopped in the doorway as she saw Erik in his daughter's room. He was unclothed from the waist up, his arms held in front of him. He turned to face her and she slammed against the wall. "My God, Erik! Your face," she whispered with white faced horror. "Your face..."

He grunted, unable to speak, fear unfurling inside him again. He touched his skin again, and moved numbly forward towards a mirror beside Guinevere on the wall.

He began to scream himself, as he too saw the face.

Blindly he stumbled into the night, his adrenaline shooting sparks as he made his way through the woods to his house. He stared in mute horror at the burned and still smoldering shell of his home. Somehow he knew that his mother was gone. He knew this time, just as he had known that something was wrong.

His fault, he thought. It was his fault. She had tried to stop him, and now she was dead.

He didn't hear Monsieur Allard approach him, only flinched when he felt the man's hand fall on his shoulder. He looked up at his teacher, his mentor, the man who had tried to protect him from his own father.

"Why?" he whispered, tears stinging his eyes. "Why?"

"I don't know," Henri said brokenly. "I'm sorry, Erik."

"Where is...where is Derrik? Where is my father?" he asked with painful certainty that he knew the answer. "Where is Maman?"

"I'm sorry," Henri sobbed, and knelt beside the weakening boy. "I'm sorry, but they're all gone."

"No," Erik whispered, "no. Please..._please_."

He picked Erik up and carried him back to his house, ignoring his wife who was looking at him in horror, and trying to drown out the sounds of his daughter crying inside her room.

"Susanna," Erik whispered as he lay him on the bed. "Susanna...please tell her I'm sorry."

It hurt merely for him to speak, and he closed his eyes as Monsieur Allard rubbed some sort of salve on his face.

"Keep this on, Master Erik," he said gently. "It's for the pain."

"My face," he cried, his mouth tightening to keep from sobbing more. "It hurts. It hurts so much, and...and it's horrid! Please, Monsieur, make it stop."

"I can't," Henri said softly. "I'm sorry, Erik. Nothing can make it stop. It will take time to heal."

"He would have been better off if he had died with his mother," Guinevere said from the doorway. "No one will want to look at him now. He'll have to wear a sack across his head for the rest of his life."

Erik sat up and looked at her, shame and humiliation casting his heart into shadows for the first time. She moved her eyes from his to the floor, not even wanting to look at him.

"Get out," Erik said quietly. "Get out. I know what you did. I know you hate me. Just get out."

"You get out!" she screeched. "This is my son's room, and he's dead because of you! You monstrosity! _You_ should have died, and not him! You should have died, and not Derrik!"

Henri rose from the bed and covered his wife's mouth, pushing her out into the hall. His hands tightened around her mouth, "Listen to me, Guin, and listen right now. Erik is staying with us until Colin arrives, and you will be kind to him. In fact, you will avoid him, and do whatever it is you can to stay out of his way. None of this was his fault. Go to your room. Go to Susanna. Go to Hell, I no longer care. You're wrong. It should have been me that died, and not Derrik," he leaned in and whispered cruelly, "and you should have died, not Francine."

* * *

Erik waited until the house was silent before he slipped from the bed. He took some of Derrik's clothes and wrapped them in a sheet, as well as the medicine that had made his face feel better. The house was filled with haunted silence as he took food from the kitchen and placed it in a potato sack, then crept from the small cottage he had played in since he was a small child.

There was nothing left.

He could not bear the look in Monsieur Allard's eyes. Derrik was gone because of him, no matter what he said. Derrik, his mother...his evil father...they were all gone, and now Monsieur Allard was giving him to Monsieur Talbot. Erik did not want to see his music teacher. He wanted to hide...to run away, but he didn't know where he was going.

He crept to the stable and found his horse, and took his mother's horse, Petunia as well. He could not bear to part with the only thing he had left of her. Riding north, numb with pain and grief...and no sense of where he would go, or what he would do.

Nothing made sense anymore. He passed the cemetery, but it was too dark to find the graves, and he was in too much pain to try.

The road was deserted, the town dead, and he rode past Monsieur Talbot's empty house at nearly midnight. He pushed himself for hours, until he was certain that he had put considerable distance between himself and Guinevere Allard. She had sent him to his father. And he was certain she had done it on purpose. For the first time in his life, he allowed himself to hate someone, and the violent thoughts he had about her were frightening. He had to get away from her, Susanna, and Henri.

Desperation, fear, and overwhelming grief made him continue, further weakening his already damaged body. As dawn came, and then afternoon, he finally took shelter near a river, and fell beside his horses in exhaustion.

Erik lay there in the dirt, trying to keep his face clean, and wept in exhaustion. He ate food from his pack, rubbed salve on his burning flesh, and stared up into the sky as it darkened. It was, ironically, every bit as beautiful as the night he and his friends had lain in the grass, looking up at it.

Deep purple, with stars beginning to twinkle overhead. He had never felt so alone or frightened.

Draco was there, looking down on him. He began to cry again as he thought of his mother. He missed her terribly. His mother, who loved him, who had cared for him. She had never raised a hand to him, never stayed too angry with him, no matter what he had done. His mother, who had died. His last glimpse of her was of her on her hands and knees, spitting blood from her mouth and trying to breathe. The bruises on her face, swollen almost beyond recognition.

The blood...everywhere.

Draco was in the sky, and he remembered telling Susanna the story of Aureo, and how she had figured out that he was Aureo, and his father was the knight. He wished he had never told that story. He wanted to forget everything. He wanted his mother back. And Derrik.

Susanna. She had been frightened of his face. She had screamed at him.

He could still hear her screaming, in his mind.

_Not the face! Make it go away, Papa! Make it stop!_

His friend was gone...and Susanna was scared of him. He cried more, and curled into a ball. Weary beyond anything he had ever felt before, he finally cried himself to sleep.

He slept, and never saw them coming.

Like thieves, they came upon the young boy, drawing back in fear when they saw his face. A superstitious lot, they saw it as a sign. However, their beliefs forced them to act in kindness. If they had found this _thing_...it was for a reason.

Danoir would know what to do with him.

It would be a curse on them if they left him to die. A curse, because his ghost could haunt them forever.


	15. Siren of France

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Glarus, Switzerland_

_February 1871_

He had retreated to his frigid castle in the Alps, into a world of dark pain and brooding, bitter, loneliness. The theater had been his home for roughly sixteen years, and he had brought the massive structure to the ground. Fire destroyed it, ironically, as it had destroyed him. Yet this time, destruction was at his own hands.

Erik had become what he feared most in the world. His father. The monster that had plagued his nightmares, the demon who had come in his sleep...and now the face of Adam Dessain no longer haunted him. It was his own. Strangely, before Paris he had never had a nightmare about his face.

After a life of regret and wastefulness, the thing he hated most was that he hurt Christine. That poor child had done nothing to deserve it, and it made him all the more angry that he let himself lose control. No one should have to live in fear. Especially the innocent. Especially a woman.

But Erik buried it all inside, as he had learned to do before Paris. He buried it behind memories of abuse, pain, and depravity that he knew no amount of repenting would atone for. He did not deserve peace...but it was not peace he sought. Why should he? After all, a ghost feels nothing.

And Erik most certainly did not feel anything.

Killing your emotions did not take time or much effort, if you had learned to do it properly. As his mother before him, he was able to shut out thoughts, feelings, and urges that had been present during Francine's marriage to Adam. Erik hid his pain behind a mask...though not the one on his face. And he would never, ever let that pain escape. Never again.

Letting his emotions control him, and losing his slip on sanity had brought him to his knees. It had destroyed the theater, and destroyed Christine. He hoped that wherever she was, she was happy. Maybe she could find peace, even if he could not. He felt that he would always love her. He only hoped he could die of love, though he doubted it was possible.

A year after the fire, and all he'd been able to do with himself was continue to hide. He felt the urge, as he had for months after the fire, to return to France. Not one single person had seen him since he had arrived at his home. It was secluded, high in the mountains, and the only companions were his two horses. Winter was not an ideal time to travel, but he had grown accustomed to discomfort. Discomfort gave him something to think about, other than himself.

"You're wasting what little you have left of your life."

He was talking to himself, of course. No one was around. There was never anyone around. Even music had abandoned him, just had his love for so many other things.

Family, friends. Touch, compassion. Love, devotion. Christine. Magic. Architecture.

The last thing he had built was the theater. Or rather, redesigned would be a more appropriate term. His heart hadn't even been in that.

"You're so accursedly ugly, Phantom, it is no wonder Christine would never love you. No one will ever love you. You are, and always will be, pathetic."

The words he spoke no longer penetrated his shield. He said them often to remind himself of why he must never lose his control. Why he must never try to feel or love, ever again. His foolish heart betrayed him occasionally, and he would find himself thinking of Christine. Saying her name was a deliberate madness he inflicted on himself.

"Christine. Christine. Christine."

Dreaming of her was absolute hell, and often sent him to the darkened window to peer out at the white snow surrounding his castle.

It was pure. Untainted. Like Christine.

Unlike himself.

He also thought of two other girls...two other young women that had stayed in his heart, for some ridiculous reason. There was Mirela, and of course, Susanna.

He closed his thoughts immediately to both of them. Thinking of Christine was not as painful as those two. Her betrayal had nothing on what he had lost when their brief lights had faded from his life.

He rose from the bed, his robe hardly warm enough for the middle of winter, and paced in his room. It was not like him to be so...energetic. He had not felt energy in his veins for a very long time. That restless urge was driving him insane, and he heard the distant echo he recognized as his desire.

Not physical desire. It had never been useful anyway. _Inner desire._

His inner desire wanted him to return to France. It had been tugging insistently on his mind, like a fish on a worm, and was not willing to let go. Returning to France should not even enter into consideration. Returning to Paris never would...but the place in France he longed for...it was impossible to go there, wasn't it? His desperate struggle to find a place of solitude in the world had met with a terrible end. He wanted to return home...to the home that had also been destroyed by fire...just outside of Artenay. He had no need to visit that cottage that he remembered so fondly, and so painfully.

But just once he wanted to see the house again...or what was left of it...twenty four years later. He wanted to finally visit the grave of his mother, and at long last say goodbye. He would spit upon the grave of Adam Dessain, his father, may he rot in Hell for eternity.

Erik had no idea how he had died, although somewhere in his mind the sound of gunshots had been heard through the pain of his face catching fire. He was only sorry that he hadn't gotten to kill the bastard himself. He would not have died quickly. If he had known then half of what he knew in Mazanderan, as the trap door lover, Adam Dessain would have found out what torture and terror meant.

More restless than ever, he left his room, padding barefoot down the hall with his black robe flying behind him like the Angel of Death's wings. The windows that slid down the staircase allowed the snow to illuminate his face. The mask, always, always present, but never, ever mentioned. The mask was starkly white with the snow glaring through the window. The moon was one so bright that it was nearly daylight, and created an eerie glow not only inside the castle, but outside of it as well. He had no idea why he had bought it...perhaps merely because after living below people so long, he wanted to live above them for once. He had thought buying it would bring him a measure of happiness, but happiness was an illusion for fools who still believed in hope and optimism.

He was not a fool, at least not often anyway.

Tonight though, he felt very much a fool. The cold, never played piano sat in what had once been a parlor. Not for him. Not for Erik. There was no furniture in the house except what had been there, which wasn't much. A bed, a few chairs, a writing desk, and a table. It summed up his existence, along with the cold and ever dark castle he was coming to see as yet another prison. Yet another cage which he must escape from.

It was midnight, or as some might call it, the witching hour. If you believed in that sort of thing. Ghosts did not frighten him. The only demons present were his own, and he had honestly never believed in the superstitious beliefs that the Gypsies had lived by. What Mirela had lived by.

Erik shut his mind to her again, although if he was perfectly honest, he would never shut out her dark eyes and raven hair.

Love could only carry a man...or a boy rather...so far.

He was a man now, and was compelled to let such ridiculous notions go. However, his traitorous heart would not allow it. Love beat through him every day, inside the battered and bruised heart that he no longer cared to remember. Need surged through his veins, and he loved with a fierceness that caused him more grief than happiness. Love for his dead mother. For Mirela. For Christine.

But love could only carry a man so far.

And so far, it had never carried Erik anywhere. It was a lucky thing then, he had the ability to curb his needs and wants.

But France beckoned to him, like a brilliant siren. He heard her calling, and for once allowed himself to listen. He would not fill his ears with wax and ignore her again. She called to him, the Siren of France.

In response, he began making preparations for his journey. He would leave at first light.


	16. No Question of Compromise

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Artenay, France_

_May 1871_

Susanna stretched and groaned, her eyes opening to the faint light in her room. Once they opened, she was wide awake, as always. Not wasting time like most people who would lie in bed for an extra ten minutes, she got up and dressed, meeting her father in the kitchen of the small cottage she had grown up in.

"Morning, Papa," she greeted him cheerfully, leaning down to kiss his cheek. "Did you sleep well?"

Henri glanced up from the paper at his daughter, "Don't I always?"

"If you're asking if I heard you snoring, I won't embarrass you with my answer," she said cheekily. She began preparing breakfast, using what was left of the eggs the schoolchildren had brought her from the weekly collection the village gathered for them. One egg from each student, or sometimes more if some of her children didn't have parents who raised chickens.

Being a schoolteacher gave her great joy, although she only helped her father out occasionally with the younger students. He was getting older, and she dreaded the day he would have to give up his job, just as he'd given up his dream of being an architect. He had never regretted it until...until her mother had left. The shame Henri and Susanna both had suffered because of Guinevere had been tremendous. At first the town had been appalled that Henri still intended teaching their children. Only a few had protested the continuation of his services...after all...he had been teaching for more years than most of them had been alive. Hadn't he done a good enough job with them, and they were deeming him unfit because of his personal life?

Divorce was considered taboo by most of the community. And though Guinevere preferred everyone to believe it was her choice, the fact was that she didn't have a choice at all. Henri had started the proceedings, and Henri had finished them. She had tried to take Susanna, but after a month in Paris with her daughter, she had sent her back to him, saying she was simply not prepared for the rigors of being a single parent.

Nothing had pleased Henri more.

He and his daughter had lived alone for many, many years, until she had taken a fancy to one of the dozens of suitors her mother sent her way. Only one, out of quite a few had caught her eye, then she too had been gone, but only for a short while. Her husband it seemed, was quite in love with his wife, and wanted her to be happy. They had moved to Artenay within six months of their marriage, and Susanna had confessed another reason she wanted to stay away from Paris.

She had discovered a terrible truth, and the shame of it was too great for her to bear.

Her mother was a courtesan. Her husband...a potential client. Julien Croix had been an admirer of Guinevere, but she had directed him, as she did many of her best looking potential clients, to meet her daughter.

And despite the pain, Susanna believed him. She loved Julien, and he had been ashamed of the deceit her mother had wrapped him up in. Moving here had been his sacrifice to her...his proof that he didn't need the finery and glamor of Paris. He only needed her, but love had not been enough.

Love cannot stop the force of sickness, and seven years after the birth of their first child, Julien had died, leaving his wife and two children once again under the protection of Henri Allard.

"Mama, is breakfast ready?" Daniel asked, yawning and stretching before he climbed into his grandfather's lap.

"Almost, darling. Is your sister awake?"

"She's still sleeping," he whispered, laying his head on Henri's shoulder.

"Wake her, please," she replied, giving him a look when he didn't immediately move.

He came back in with one year old Elisabeth hanging precariously on his side. He deposited her in Henri's lap, and sullenly took a chair for himself.

"Mam!" Elisabeth grinned at her grandfather.

"Pap-paw!" he corrected, tickling her chin.

"Mam!" she repeated, blowing bubbles at him. "Eat! Mam!"

Susanna set a plate of soft eggs in front of her father, and watched as her daughter immediately latched onto an egg and shoved it inside mouth.

"Good!"

Susanna chuckled as egg also made it onto her father's freshly pressed shirt, the table, and she was quite certain, the floor. Daniel grumbled, and when he finally received his breakfast, showed his sister how it was _supposed_ to be done. Elisabeth watched him for a moment, and promptly shoved more food inside her mouth.

"She can't do anything," he complained.

"Daniel," Susanna said in warning. "Finish your eggs, then get ready for school."

Another warning look ceased any further arguments.

* * *

Susanna breathed in the approaching summer, noticing how the leaves were darker, the sky seemed brighter, even the dirt smelled sweeter. Daniel walked ahead of her with three other children that had joined them on the walk to the schoolhouse, pretending he didn't hear his mother telling him not to kick the gravel on the path and create dust. Summer was her favorite time of year. The bleakness of winter gave in to the beauty of spring, but it was summer that she loved the most.

It was during the summer when she had fallen in love with Julien. She had married him that same year, moved to Paris, although summer in Paris was incomparable to summer in Artenay. By winter they had moved here, and it had taken time to rebuild the trust between them. She had been devastated by the deception...by the seemingly immorality that her marriage had been touched with. But Julien had not been a client of her mother's...although finding out what her mother did was painful enough.

And he admitted that he had fallen in love with her, Susanna, and he was ashamed of his actions. He had not wanted to tell her that Guinevere sent him, especially when he found out she hated her mother. He had not wanted to tell her, because he loved her, and thought if she found out she would never speak to him again.

If he had not married her first, in all possibility he would have been right.

Julien had died while she was pregnant with Elisabeth. He never met his daughter, although he doted on his wife and son, and he had done everything in his power to provide for them. He gave up the position of being a doctor in Paris...and became a country doctor for Artenay and the surrounding communities. It had ultimately been an infection he developed while tending a patient that killed him.

The morning sun was shining on the little brick schoolhouse, and as she entered to a room of suddenly quiet children, she immediately became suspicious. It was all too apparent when she sat down and could not find a single piece of chalk. Giggles erupted from all available spaces, until one of children, Rachel Vallee, told her it was in her son's desk.

"I didn't do it!" Daniel protested. "I promise!"

More laughter, until the culprits had been tattled on, and her son's good name was cleared. Rachel Vallee only told her because her uncle Randolf was sweet on Madame Croix, and she thought it might earn a few points in his favor.

It didn't, but Susanna didn't contradict the girl.

Nothing was wrong with Randolf. But she was not looking to rekindle, or rather, _ever_ start a romance with him, or any other man. Julien had been enough, and she was content to remain a widow. Although, if her troubled sleep was any indication, she had gotten far too used to sleeping beside her husband every night. Even a year and a half later she found it difficult to sleep alone. But she would not sacrifice her honor, nor her children's reputations by indulging in a casual affair.

And marriage was out of the question.


	17. Return of Dessain, and Normal Consequenc

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

* * *

I'd like to remind you I'm not basing this from Kay, and I read through Leroux yesterday, so if there's something you don't understand (or you think I did not understand from his ramblings) let me know

* * *

The village had not changed much since the last time he had ridden through it. Several people looked up at the dark shadow that passed through in the early morning light, although no one called out a greeting, or offered any other form of welcome. Not unusual for him, although he thought he recognized a few people. Hidden beneath the dusty cloak, which was unbearably hot, no one would recognize him.

It had taken three months to ride from the Alps to here. Three months of constant riding, which he had never really minded, and sleeping on the ground, which he had also grown accustomed to. Although at thirty six, it was a little hard on the back.

Monsieur Talbot's house still stood at the end, although it must have been sold, because there was a young man and woman sitting beneath the great oak tree he'd climbed up while waiting for his music teacher to return from a walk in the woods. They too, looked at him as he rode past, but did not say anything.

The woods gave way to a gentle, rolling pasture, and at the top was the church he'd gone to as a boy, although he avoided looking at it. The cemetery beside it though, drew him in. This was what had been calling to him. The wrought iron encompassing the bodies of the dead.

The corpse of his mother...and somewhere, his father.

Erik found them together, but he turned his face away from the tombstone of Adam Dessain. He knelt beside the grave of his mother, and placed his hand on her epitaph. He had not realized how young she was. Only thirty eight when she died. Only two years older than himself.

Emotion swelled inside him, and he stamped it quickly down. With dry eyes he traced her name, and the date of her death...the date of his as well. Erik had died with her that day...and a different creature had been born. The creature metamorphosed into something worse each time he was beaten, each time he was deprived of something. His two and a half years spent locked in a cage...his time in Persia with the shah-in-shah, and later, the Sultan. He wished the Daroga had never found him. He wished the Persian had never saved his life.

"Maman," he whispered, something he had not said in many years. "I love you, Maman. I am sorry you died protecting someone who did not deserve to be saved. I am sorry I wasted the freedom you gave me, by becoming something...something evil. I love you, Maman, and I will try to be good," he felt his throat swell, "I will try, for you. Please...please forgive me."

His chin touched his chest as he fought for control. The control he had mastered so well, and finally he found it. He turned and stared at his father's name. It was not fair. Adam had lived...lived! For fifty years! Twelve years longer than his mother...he had been an old man when he died...although Erik did not remember him as being old and weak. Although it did not take a strong man to beat women and children.

He placed his boot against the headstone, lowered his head, and spit directly onto Adam's name.

When he turned around and left, not once did he look back.

* * *

School let out, and to Susanna's surprise, three teams of horses were hitched outside. One of the drivers, Randolf Vallee.

"What's all this?" she asked, watching as the other drivers insisted that all the children were to climb on board.

"Some of us got together this afternoon, and decided to give the children a ride home," he leaned down and ruffled Daniel's hair. "Won't that be nice?"

"Yes!" Daniel scrambled up into Rand's cart, sitting behind his niece, Rachel.

Susanna eyed him suspiciously.

"What's really going on?"

His brown eyes flickered for a moment, "There was a stranger in town today. He's been seen riding all around, and was even seen near the school, the church, and your house. We thought it might be safe if we made sure everyone made it home. He looked...well...we don't really know what he looked like. He was covered from head to toe in a dark cloak, riding a black horse," he slid a glance to make sure no one was listening, "he looked dangerous, Susanna. I did this, so you would feel safe."

Susanna pursued her lips, "Thank you, Monsieur Vallee. As much as I appreciate you looking out for me, I have several things to attend to in the schoolroom. But you may take Daniel home."

Unwilling to argue with her, he nodded. "I can come back for you later," he offered.

"Thank you, but no," she said, politely, but very firmly.

She turned and went back into the schoolhouse and began preparing for her father's lesson the next day. She taught one day a week, sometimes two if she thought her father might need a break, but always helped him make new lessons for his students. They loved it when Madame Croix taught, because she would let them sing songs, although most of the older students declared it beneath them to sing like a bunch of babies. She made up stories, and gave geography lessons, but her favorite was history. She let her father deal with the tediousness of math and sciences.

Before she left, she hid her chalk so that her father wouldn't have to search for it. She'd only have to remember to tell him what she'd done with it. Thankfully as she stepped out the door of the schoolhouse, she saw Monsieur Vallee's team of horses already on the road back to town. He didn't see her as she began walking home.

She had felt annoyed that he orchestrated the entire situation. It was not the first time he had done something like that, and each time it annoyed her further. There really was nothing wrong with him. He was handsome, only a few years older than herself. He had all his teeth, and was running a farm very efficiently. But she felt nothing for him. She had went to school with him, and he had never even looked at her cross eyed until after she came back from Paris, and her husband had died. He and Julien had become friends of sorts, although Julien had a hard time socializing with anyone. He had been a very quiet, but very passionate man, which had drawn her to him in the first place.

Her complete opposite. He called her his ray of sunshine, although the first time he said it, he'd been horribly embarrassed. But her beaming smile had compelled him to do it again, and he'd never stopped after that.

When she arrived home her father had Elisabeth clinging to his hip, and Daniel to his leg. He looked at her helplessly, "I cannot take anymore, Susanna. Your daughter has been driving me mad all day. Now your son has come to finish me off."

She scolded Daniel and sent him to his room, and took her wailing child from his arm. Somehow he never managed to tire holding her with only one, although she was growing so heavy Susanna had trouble holding her with two.

"What's wrong, Lisbeth?" she murmured, pressing her nose to her daughter's. "Did you miss Mama?"

"Mam!" she shrieked, looked confused for a moment, then began crying again.

"She's clean, she's fed, she had all her naps. Please...take her. I haven't had any peace all day."

"Why don't _you_ take a nap," Susanna chuckled, "and I'll take her down to feed the ducks?"

"Sounds like a plan," he muttered. "Like a wonderful, quiet...,"

He left the room, still mumbling to himself.

She went to Daniel's room, "Want to come to the lake?"

He bounded out the door without giving her a response, although he stood dutifully by the gate as she gathered bread crumbs for the ducks that had come in last month, and a blanket to sit on and wrap Elisabeth in. She had to call him back several times, and lost sight of him occasionally as she walked the well worn path to the lake. It still remained her favorite spot, despite the bittersweet memories that lingered. She still loved to come here almost every evening, especially in the summer time. It helped to bring her children, so that laughter could fill the banks once more, and light could shine in the dark loneliness the place had been plagued with. She had her first kiss on the banks here, her first real kiss, with Julien. He had almost made love to her there as well, although they ended up waiting until after the marriage had taken place.

The lake shone through the trees, and she stepped from the woods in time to see her son throw a rock amidst the ducks sitting on the water.

"Daniel Croix, get back here this instant!" she shouted. "You are not to throw rocks at those ducks, young man!"

He raised his arm defiantly with another, but ended up tossing it to the left of the ducks, although they did protest quite a bit. Susanna made her way to the shore, and set her daughter on the ground. Fresh horse tracks were everywhere along the shore, although they were alone, as usual. She made Daniel sit far enough away not to cause mischief, and gradually the ducks, and a few geese ventured close enough to peck at the bread floating in the water.

Elisabeth laughed in delight, throwing some herself, although it landed in the mud instead of the water. The rapid tapping of the duck's bill on the surface created a sound that caused her to laugh louder, and along with the soft quacking of the ducks and gentle honking of the geese, it could not have delighted her more.

Susanna sat back on the bank on her blanket and removed Elisabeth's shoes and her dress, and allowed her to play in the mud. Her mother would have been shocked, but Elisabeth loved it. Although the first time, she had screamed until her mother returned her home, dressed her, and had her clean and sparkling again. She watched her pat the mud with her little hands, and didn't protest too much when she rubbed it through her hair.

"Look, Mam!" she said gleefully. "Eeew!"

"Eeew," Susanna agreed, and moved her feet out of reach of Elisabeth's muddy fingers.

She turned her head to see Daniel, but he had wandered near the diving tree. He was looking up into the branches, and she opened her mouth to talk to him when she looked up.

A man was sitting there, looking at her son, and appeared to be speaking to him.

"Daniel!" she shouted, and scrambled up, wrapping Elisabeth in a blanket. She moved towards them, thinking of the stranger Randolf Vallee had mentioned earlier. And as she moved closer, she could see that he really was peculiar.

He was still covered in a cloak, his face hidden beneath the dusty black garment. It was hot outside, and he was covered in a black cloak...

"Who are you?" Daniel was asking.

"I am no one of importance," came a soft and deep voice.

"Daniel, come with me," she whispered. She reached for his hand without taking her eyes off the figure in the tree.

She felt, rather than saw the eyes move to her.

"Do not be afraid, Madame."

But she was. She was very afraid. She could see nothing inside the cloak, and it was growing darker by the second. He looked quite...as Monsieur Vallee had described him...dangerous.

"I will scream," she said in a strangled voice. She clutched Elisabeth to her tighter, and tugged Daniel to her side. "I will scream."

He lifted gloved hands and removed his hood. Across each side of his eyes was a black mask. He leaned down and placed his elbows on his knees, fixing her with a menacing look.

"I know."


	18. An Open Target

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik watched Susanna run from him, although she wasn't screaming. She did look back when he climbed from the tree, and he nearly started towards her as she fell with the infant. He hadn't meant his words to frighten her...but they had been said in bitter anger. Anger he had not known he still felt for her...or perhaps it was misplaced anger.

Perhaps it was still anger he felt at Guinevere Allard.

He knew _she_ most likely was not here in Artenay. Why would she be? She was a celebrated courtesan now, living in luxury in Paris. If she'd had a talented bone in her body, besides spreading her legs, she would have been a suitable candidate for a dancer. He'd seen her several times in his theater, and resisted killing her somehow each time. He had never bothered her at all...preferring to stay away from her. If he even thought twice about her in the same day it was enough to make him want to drag her with him underground, and show her what she had left him to.

The first time he had seen her in the theater around ten years ago, he'd been outraged. He wanted to kill her then...but there were still some sins he had not committed. The last time he had seen her, before he'd moved into the theater, had not been in Derrik's room. It had been roughly three years later. And he felt the sting of her hate to this day. She had seen him there that night. She had looked into his eyes...and she had walked away. Guinevere left him in the cage the Gypsies put him in, and left the exhibit hall where he had been displayed.

His spirit had already been gone by then. Youth and innocence had already been absent from his life for a very long time, and her cruelty, combined with the recent death of Mirela, had driven him to commit murder.

His first.

Erik had been fourteen.

His first murder, but it had not only been Danoir that he wanted to kill. If he'd had time, he probably would have somehow found Madame Allard that night, but the panic that ensued had driven him underground. In the sewers of Paris, he had crouched like a rat for days, only emerging to steal food and semi clean water. He bathed in the Seine at midnight, and finally took shelter under the Pont Neuf. For two years he wandered around Europe and Asia, until the skills he'd learned from the Gypsies had caught the notice of traders and caravans that went from Russia to Persia. Then Daroga had come for him, and promised him power.

He never should have listened.

* * *

Susanna fell twice more, each time catching herself before Elisabeth hit the ground. The first time she had fallen, the child had begun screaming. The second time, Daniel had, and ran faster than she'd ever seen him straight for the cottage. The third time, Susanna found her own lungs, because in panic she thought she saw the man coming after her.

It was only when she threw herself inside the cottage and peered out at the dark yard, that she realized she had been alone. He had not come...or at least she had never seen him. Her father stumbled out of his room and gaped at the three of them.

Elisabeth was screaming, covered in mud, Daniel was crying, and Susanna was gasping for air. Her wide blue eyes filled with tears when she seen him, and she finally began crying as well.

"What the devil's wrong with you?" he demanded. "Susanna?"

He took Elisabeth from her, unwrapping the nearly naked, muddy child. Nothing was out of order there, Elisabeth was usually muddy when they returned.

"There was a man, Papa!" Susanna finally sobbed.

"A man?" he asked, depositing the child on the floor. "Where?"

"At the lake."

"Did he hurt you?" he demanded, inspecting her thoroughly. She appeared to have been wrestling on the ground with someone. "Did he touch you?"

"N-no," she whispered, and her teeth began to chatter.

She remembered the look in his eyes as he'd glared at her. He had looked positively furious with her. She had no idea who he was...or why he would look so angry, unless he was naturally cruel.

"Why is your dress torn?" he demanded.

"I-I fell," she mumbled, and began brushing leaves and grass from her dress, and out of her hair. "I-I'm fine, really. I think I scared myself and the children, more than anything."

But she did turn and look out the window again, although she couldn't see much.

"What did he look like?"

She turned and whispered, "I don't know."

Henri narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you a goose? You're telling me a man frightened you...and you don't know what he looks like?"

"He was wearing a cloak!" she said, her voice becoming higher pitched in fright, "And a mask. I couldn't see him. He spoke to us...he implied that...that he knew I would scream."

A mask? Henri thought.

_A mask..._

"Was it Erik?"

Susanna gaped at him, shock tearing through her heart. Erik?

No. Erik was gone...he never came back.

"Susanna, was it him?" he asked urgently. "Was it Erik?"

"No," she whispered, but her eyes glazed over as she looked at her father's chest. "Papa, it couldn't have been."

"Why not?" he asked softly. "Why wouldn't he want to return? He's been gone a long time, Susanna. Every man has to go home sometime. Can you think of anyone else who would wear a mask?"

"But you said...you said only half his face...this mask covered both," she said with desperation. Surely she had not screamed and run from Erik!

"A mask, Susanna. There is only one person I know around here that would need to wear one."

"I have to go back," she said, her hands trembling. "Papa...I have to go back."

"It's dark outside. I'll go."

Her eyes lifted to his, and she started to deny him. She found herself nodding instead, "Yes, if...if it's him...bring him back here, Papa. Bring Erik here."

As he had before, he promised her he would.

* * *

The innkeeper looked at him in doubt. "You say you're Francine Dessain's son? She's been dead twenty four years."

"I am aware of that," Erik replied slowly. "Will you give me a room, or must I spend another night on the ground?"

The man continued to stare at him, and Erik sighed. He hadn't intended on coming to the inn, but after sending Susanna screaming from the shore, he decided his best bet was to step into the open. When they came for him, asking him to leave, he would go quietly. Unless they wanted a fight, which he was prepared to give them. And telling the innkeeper that Erik Dessain had returned was the best way to send word through town.

"Why...why...," the man began nervously, and lowered his eyes to the desk, away from the mask.

"There was a fire," Erik said shortly. "Now, are you going to give me the room or not?"

"Oh, just give him the room, Martin. We'll sort this out in the morning," his wife snapped from across the room.

Erik inclined his head to her, "Thank you, Madame Dumont. You are kind, as always."

Her eyes widened as she realized this really was Erik Dessain. This black clad traveler looked nothing like the young boy that had put cats in the church, or tied all the loose reins of ten horses together while the minister was greeting people at the door.

"You're welcome, Monsieur Dessain," she whispered, but backed slowly from the room.

Martin Dumont slid him his key, and Erik went to find out exactly what a room at the Settlers Inn looked like.

As he expected, it was not going to be comfortable, although it was better than sleeping on the ground. At least they wouldn't be able to surprise him as easily, he thought as he hung gossamer thread from the doors and windows. He'd asked for a room close to the stable, and received the one he asked for. The only thing that bothered him was the narrow alley that led from the stable to the street, and nowhere else. Hopefully they would leave him in peace for a few days, until he could decide what exactly he wanted to do.

There had been nothing left of the burned house when he'd gone by earlier. Not even one scorched board remained. In a way he had felt relief...but also disappointment. As if seeing it again could confirm the reason he'd been maimed and disfigured for life. As if it would give him a sense of peace...but then he remembered he was not looking for peace.

He lifted his saddlebag from the floor and lifted out the dress of the little girl who'd been playing in the mud. He hadn't expected to see Susanna. Nor her children. He wondered if Monsieur Allard was still alive, and if Susanna's husband would be coming to look for him soon. He had done nothing, of course, but it never mattered. The last time he'd wandered through Europe, when he'd been a boy, it had never mattered. He soon learned to avoid people, no matter how many in number, or no matter what age. They were always frightened of him.

Always scared of the monster.

Even rational people like the Dumont's, who had been kind to him as a boy...they could not see a glimmering of that boy inside the man they had met tonight. Not that the boy was inside any longer, but it still hurt. These people had known him before...and they still feared him...just like everyone else. Just as he'd always thought they would if he returned. They were frightened. Susanna and her children were frightened.

And Erik? Well, he was alone as always, and cold inside even on a hot summer night.


	19. The Man in Room Five

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna fed the children and put them in bed, calming them both by singing softly in her slightly off key alto, until they both finally drifted off, content to return to their innocence.

She half hoped her father was wrong about the man by the lake. She would be horrified if she had behaved in such a way to Erik. He did terrify her...but not for the reasons he might think. She was terrified of those memories of that day. The day her life had changed, and seeing him would bring them back.

Every last one.

The day she had seen her brother shouting from inside the window of Madame Dessain's bedroom, consumed by fire and flailing around in panic and desperation. Then she had watched him throw himself out of it, and land at her feet.

The face..._the face_...but also the hands, the arms, the legs...

Derrik did not deserve to die like that. Her father had explained everything to her...everything about Erik and Francine...Erik and Monsieur Talbot...Adam Dessain. It still hadn't made much sense, but knowing the facts made it a little easier to deal with.

Adam had been a monster, and everyone had suffered at his hands.

Her family...as well as Erik's.

She barely remembered the night Erik left...only that she had dreamed of the face...and her father had told her the next day that she hadn't been dreaming. That it was Erik's face. That she had screamed at her friend.

And now she had most likely done it to him again.

She always thought Erik had run away because of her...because of what she had done to him. Guilt had been inside her heart at age eight...until she learned the truth at twelve. The same age as Derrik when he died.

Her mother told her, in the cruelest of voices what she had done...and that she knew where Erik Dessain was. She told Susanna about the Gypsy heathen boy she had seen, and the money people tossed at his feet for a glimpse of his face.

She had given him a coin, and simply left him there.

In a cage.

Her father had not believed her at first...and had gone to Paris himself. Then he'd come across the camp and gotten the story from them...that their leader, Danoir was dead...murdered by a deformed boy they had called Erik. But Erik was long gone by that time, and they had never heard anything about him since.

Susanna paced inside the cottage, waiting, waiting, until the door opened and her father stepped in.

"Well?" she said sharply.

He shook his head. "There was no one there."

She hadn't considered that. She thought it would either be Erik, or it wouldn't. She never thought the man might leave.

"Perhaps it wasn't Erik, Papa. He would have come here, wouldn't he?"

"I don't know," Henri admitted. "But it is far too late for us to do anything tonight. But next time, love, please try not to be a goose."

"Papa," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. Tears of guilt and pain. "I hope its not him...I hope its not. I don't want him to feel ashamed because of me."

"I hope it is him, Susanna. I want him to come here...to learn the truth. Colin will be arriving for the summer any day, he may already be here, and it would be wonderful if they could be reunited," Henri sighed, wishing a wish he'd done a thousand times. "Colin will be pleased, so pleased, if it's him."

Susanna looked at her father curiously, "Yes, but will Erik?"

* * *

The school children were in a riot the next morning as Henri and Susanna walked through the door. She held Elisabeth on her hip, and pushed Daniel down into his chair. Nothing could be heard amid the chaos in the class, not until Henri held up the gavel and banged it fiercely against the sound block.

They all turned to face him.

"What, may I ask, is the problem?" he said slowly.

_"Monster, Beast."_

_"Demon." _

_"It wears a mask. It has no soul."_

Everyone began speaking at once, and Henri immediately felt rage enter his veins. He banged the gavel again, several more times.

"Silence!" he shouted. He pointed at the eldest boy in the classroom, "You, Master Labire, what is this commotion?"

The boy stood immediately, "There's a thing in town..."

"A thing!" Henri cried, "A _thing!_ Are you very sure, Master Labire, _it_ is not a _man_?"

Master Labire hesitated, "It...he is staying at the inn. He...he looks like the dev-"

"Stop right there!" Susanna snapped. "Not one more word against this man! Not one more! He is a human being, no matter who he is, and deserves respect and decency, not the flames of gossip chasing him around. There is no such thing as a monster, children," she said sharply. "and there is no beast here, but the animals. Not one more word about him, or you will all be punished. Severely."

Even if she felt like a hypocrite saying it, it needed to be said. Especially if Erik was the man they were speaking of. Oh, she hoped Erik had not heard these things. She hoped the parents of these children were not putting these ideas in their heads.

"Papa, I'm going to the village," she said, giving them all another stern look. "I'm going to see who he really is."

The road to town was longer than the road to her cottage, so she turned back and retrieved her horse, holding Elisabeth precariously in her arms as she walked slowly to town. It probably would have been faster if she'd walked herself, but she couldn't carry the baby that far and walk at the same time. Halfway there she heard the pounding of hooves behind her, but when she turned, there was no one there. Her horse was gentle, but if something startled it, she would be in peril with Elisabeth in her arms. Then she heard the sound coming closer, and her horse's ears pricked backwards nervously. The gelding stopped altogether, and Susanna saw a streak of black through the forest.

A magnificent and solid looking jet black horse, and an equally black-clad rider were moving fluidly together through the sunlit trees, the cloak from the night before striking out behind him. Nothing could be seen of him, because the cloak covered him completely, and the vision of shadow moved so quickly past her and Elisabeth, that after a moment she wondered if it had been real.

Feeling the weight of her daughter in her arms, she continued, wondering if it was him.

A nervous flutter entered her stomach as she finally made it to the village. She did not stop and greet the Talbot's even though she could see that they had arrived. She continued to the Settler's Inn and tied her horse out front. Madame Dumont looked up with a smile when she saw her.

"Mercy me, it's Susanna and Elisabeth. This is a surprise," she said warmly.

"Madame Dumont," Susanna whispered, and set the baby on the desk, "I'm sorry," she gasped a moment, "allow me to catch my breath."

"My goodness, child, what's wrong?" Madame Dumont asked in concern.

"My daughter...she weighs quite a bit..."

Madame Dumont chuckled and scooped baby Elisabeth up in her arms, "This little child? No, not this one. She's perfectly healthy."

"As a horse," Susanna muttered, rubbing her aching arms.

"So what brings you in?" Madame Dumont asked, although her tone indicated that she might know.

"There's a rumor at the school..."

"Ah, yes," Madame said quietly. "The rumor of the masked man. I suspected I might see you."

"Is it...is it Erik Dessain?" Susanna asked in a breathless whisper.

"By all accounts, yes it is."

Her nerves wound tighter inside her, and her hands clenched behind the desk to hide her nervousness. Erik was here. The words reverberated in her mind, in her heart. He was here. Her friend...lost so long ago...he had come back.

"Is he...is he here now?" she questioned, lowering her eyes to the desk. "Is Erik here?"

"He is staying here," Madame Dumont said softly. "But as to whether or not he is in his room...I have no idea."

"Which room?" she asked quietly.

"Susanna...I don't think you should-"

"Which room?" she repeated, leveling Madame Dumont with a look she used on disobedient children.

"Number five."


	20. Bittersweet and Aloof

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik removed the dusty cloak and brushed the remaining debris from his clothing. An early morning ride to escape the voices in his mind had turned into a desperate flee from the woman who had screamed at him last night. He'd seen her leaving her house, and followed for miles behind her, growing impatient because he could not simply ride around her. She'd been moving unlawfully slow with the babe in her arms, and eventually he had tired of the plodding rhythm, and with Cesar prancing the entire time, eager to race like the wind, he'd finally let him.

He straightened his hairpiece, and adjusted the black domino mask, glancing at himself in the mirror before recovering it with a towel. He was as back to normal as he would ever get.

People in town continued to stop and stare at him, but so far, no one said _boo_. He sensed it was nearly time to move on...but he really didn't have a desire to leave. Actually...he'd been out looking at the where the house he'd grown up in had stood...and felt a desire to see it standing there again.

The yard was amazingly well tended, as if someone had known he was coming and trimmed it just for him. The foundation had been cleaned of all debris...there was nothing beneath but concrete, and he had walked the slab, remembering details of his life that had been buried for what seemed like a lifetime.

His mother's cooking...nothing had ever tasted so wonderful...the routine baths...watching her sit by the hearth and sew...sitting in her lap as she read him a story.

He had thought those memories had been forgotten...but they had come abruptly through as he'd stared at what was left of his childhood home.

Before he could change his mind, he began sketching the house, and what he could recall of the floor plans. He knew everything...although he could not quite remember the colors it had been. He supposed the outside was white...but the inside remained elusive to him. He closed his eyes and mentally walked through the front door...remembering...

A knock interrupted his thoughts, and he ignored it, scowling. Probably Madame Dumont again, although he'd sent her along well enough last time with a reason not to come back. They knocked again, and he snapped the pencil in his grip in frustration. Appalled, he stared at his hand, then relaxed it deliberately.

_You must never show your anger again._

Words he was determined to live by.

He stood and opened the door, another firm command on his lips to send Madame Dumont back to her husband, and found instead blue eyes looking up at him expectantly.

Two pairs of them, actually.

Erik seemed to recover quickly from shock, and a blank expression entered his eyes.

"A moment, Madame," he said quietly, and shut the door in her face.

Susanna waited, her mouth opening and closing several times in shock, but then she realized he'd shut the door. It opened again, and he held something out to her.

"I would have returned them, Madame, or left them here for you."

She looked down to see Elisabeth's dress in his hands, as well as a pair of shoes. Wordlessly she took them, her eyes returning to his. He stared at her, and she could see nothing in his dark eyes. Nothing...no recognition...nothing familiar about him. She wondered if he was really Erik, because Erik had never looked so...vacant...so defeated.

As if nothing she could possibly say would make a difference. As if he had seen the worst already, and it no longer mattered to him if she screamed at him again or not.

"Erik?" she whispered, shifting Elisabeth on her hip.

His eyes moved to the child momentarily, who was looking at him in wide eyed silence. As if she didn't know what to make of the man standing before her. Obviously she hadn't been screaming because of him last night, merely because her mother had nearly hurt her by falling and running like a fool.

"Madame."

He didn't betray anything with his eyes...and she felt breathless merely standing in front of him. She had never realized he would be so tall. Tall, broad shouldered, long legs and arms. One hand was curled around the edge of the door, but he held it so close to his body that she could see nothing of the room behind him.

The cloak was gone, but once again, he was dressed almost entirely in black.

"I-It's me," she said softly, "Sus-"

"I know who you are," he interrupted, and his fingers beat an impatient drum against the door.

They both turned and looked at his hand, and he abruptly stopped the nervous gesture.

Susanna didn't know what to say...what had she expected? Had she really expected to find the Erik she remembered? Did she really think he would be there?

"May I come in?" she asked, and watched as his eyes narrowed slightly, then immediately returned to their former position.

"I think not."

"Erik," she said desperately, "please...please, I want to speak with you. Especially about last night...please."

"Perhaps another time," he said curtly. "If you'll excuse me, Madame."

"Erik-"

But she never got another word out. He finally shut the door, and leaned against it as a surge of panic hit him. He heard her in the hall, as if she debated knocking again, but after perhaps two minutes he heard her leave. The fear returned as she left, and his breaths rolled in harsh pants for several minutes as he realized that some things simply cannot be shut out.

He would be better prepared next time...if there was a next time. And he knew following Susanna would be her father. Suddenly the comfort and privacy of his dim room seemed like a cell. But he'd already run Cesar enough for one day, and at mid morning the village would be packed with curious onlookers, gawkers, and people concerned with the morbidly fascinating. He had no desire to be stared at, but felt compelled to once again hide.

He was always hiding.

* * *

Susanna sat in the small lobby area of the inn, a look of confusion and grief on her face. Madame Dupont approached her cautiously.

"He's changed, hasn't he, dear?" she said sympathetically. "He was so dreadfully polite, but when I went to ask if he needed anything...well...I felt chilled to the core merely standing beside him. Did you feel that, dear?"

No, she wanted to say. It had not been cold near him. She'd felt nothing but a sense of loss for the boy he had been, and the friend that was still gone. She needed him still, she realized. Erik had been like a brother to her...more than that, but she'd only been a girl then. But she had never gotten over his disappearance, and it had surged in her fresh the night her mother had told her what his fate had been. Her brother...though not by blood. Her friend...who she still loved and missed.

It was hard to accept the reality that he was really gone.

He had practically hissed at her last night from the tree, and been...well, yes..._cold_ to her today.

"Will you see that he's comfortable?" Susanna whispered.

"I've tried, dear, but he won't allow me to do anything. He asked me specifically to remain near my husband."

Susanna shook her head in confusion, wondering what...how...why...

"I...I need to go," she finally said, clutching Elisabeth to her tighter. "Thank you, Madame Dumont. Please...," she leaned in close and whispered, "don't let them be cruel to him. He's suffered enough...if you hear them..."

"I'll do my best, Susanna, but not everyone is going to be accepting. Even if...," she paused, and swallowed, "...even without the mask, they might not find him easy to accept."

Susanna nodded her head and stood. "Well, I must be going. Thank you, once again."

She thought of her brother as she led her horse down the road. If it had been Derrik who lived, or even if Derrik had survived with his injuries, the people have treated him the same way they did Erik. It was heartbreaking to know how much he had gone through since he left. She only knew a portion...and it had been horrible enough.

Susanna tied her horse outside the gate of Monsieur Talbot's home. Over the years he had come back every summer...just like the two summers he had come to teach Erik music. And he came back every year, and he wrote her father several times a year. He didn't always ask about Erik, but it was rare if he didn't mention him at least once.

Not once had he given up hope that he would return.

She still remembered the look in his eyes when he had returned from England. The utter desolation in his eyes, the grief...the rage. She had never seen anyone in such a rage. Her father had ushered her out of the room when he'd been told about the Gypsies three years after he'd disappeared. He had threatened to kill Guinevere. He had settled for finding her in Paris, and striking her in the face.

She didn't believe Colin was normally a violent man.

Not after she'd seen how gentle he was with his wife, and with Jackson and Lily.

A butler answered the large manor house and immediately escorted her inside. When Erik had disappeared, Colin had confessed everything to Emma. And the next time he came, he brought his entire family, and they had come with him every year since.

"Susanna!" Jackson crossed the room and embraced her, "And you've brought little Elisabeth. How nice."

He immediately plucked the girl from her arms and blew a raspberry on her cheek. Although he was virtually a stranger, Elisabeth burst into laughter and clapped the man's cheeks with her hands. He obliged her by doing it again.

"When did you arrive?" she asked gently. "I haven't been to town in nearly a week."

"Well as luck would have it," he said cheerfully, "we arrived nearly a week ago."

"Jackson...," she started suddenly, but he silenced her with a look.

"We all know," he said quietly. "We know he's here."

"Have you seen him?"

"Yesterday...he rode though town. Lily and I were outside and we watched him ride past. We were both too shocked to say anything, and we never seen if he came back or not. Papa...Papa is basically a nervous wreck, although of course, he will never admit it," Jackson said softly. "And Mama is too. Lily...well, she's always calm and collected. Nothing gets at her."

Not even meeting your oldest brother?

"I went to see him," Susanna said. "He's...he's not anything like I expected. He's very aloof."

Aloof did not describe the distance she felt Erik had with the world. He was so utterly detached, he had not even greeted her...he had said nothing to indicate if he was eager to see her again or not.

Somehow she already knew he was not.

"Papa isn't sure how to proceed. He doesn't want to frighten him off-"

"If he doesn't tell him now, he may not get the chance. I have a feeling Erik won't stay around long," she said abruptly.

"Madame Croix," she heard Colin say from behind her, "I was wondering if you would pass your father a message for me."

She turned to see the man, with piercing green eyes like both his sons.

"Of course."

"Tell him I'd like for him to meet here this evening, if it is possible. I'm going to tell Erik tonight, and I'd like him to be there."


	21. Summoning the Dead

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Henri left Susanna and the children at the cottage. She had wanted to come, but decided that too many people bombarding him at once might make him uncomfortable, and Elisabeth had begun fussing after she'd been taken from Jackson, and had never really stopped. He could hardly believe the luck in Colin returning, and Erik arriving at nearly the same time. His daughter's words of warning troubled him. Erik had always been a gregarious, beautiful child. Isolation and his disfigurement had probably broken his spirit, to say nothing of being locked in a cage.

He remembered the icy chill he'd gotten when he'd gone into the Gypsy camp. He had not been welcome there, and had received the barest of facts with the greatest of reluctance from their new leader, Rulv. He knew Erik had murdered...but then, so had he.

Colin greeted him with shaking nervousness, his mouth twisted in a grim smile, and terror in his eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered. "God, Henri, I've been preparing for this moment for years...and now I have no idea what to say."

His son...his son was alive! He was here...only minutes away. He had not slept at all since Jackson and Lily had rushed in yesterday evening to say they'd seen a dark figure in a cloak riding out of town, and they had caught the briefest glimpse of a mask beneath the hood. Then the rumors had started...then his name had been whispered around town, confirming his hope, his dream...his dread.

"You'll think of something," Henri reassured him. "Is it just us?"

"Yes. Yes. For now. I...I don't want to send him into apoplexy by giving him too much information," he said breathlessly. "Christ Almighty, I think _I _may have an apoplexy."

He sat down and gripped his knees, his gray and black hair falling around his face. He glanced up at Henri, grimacing as the man watched him in concern. It was not like him to put his emotions on display.

"Let's get this over with," Colin whispered. "I think I may need to vomit soon, and I'd much rather it be afterwards."

They walked in silence to the inn, inclining their heads to Monsieur Dumont, but continuing past him to Erik's room.

Number Five.

Colin hesitated too long outside the door, and Henri rapped on the wood quickly, not missing his friend's face paling rapidly. It was a very long time before the door was open. As if he knew there were people outside, but he preferred them to leave rather than answer.

Erik gazed out at both of them behind the black domino, his eyes impassive and cool as he took in both of his former teachers and mentors.

"Gentleman," he said softly. "Is this all you've brought to your lynching party? I assure you, it will take more than you two to bring me down."

They both stared at him in shock. Henri recovered first.

"Why in God's name would we be lynching you, boy? Are you daft?"

Erik drew his head back in surprise. "Daft, Monsieur Allard? I assure you, I have been called many things, but never daft. Perhaps mad would be a more appropriate word. I prefer the word lunatic, myself. I am, after all, quite a bit loony."

Henri stammered ineffectively for a moment, seeing Colin's eyes...Erik's eyes, in color and shape, but there was no hint of his soul within. Yes, he could see that he probably was quite mad.

"May we come in?"

Erik hesitated a moment, "You enter at your own risk. If you try anything...I am not responsible for what happens. Just remember you sought me out."

"We aren't here to hurt you, Erik," Monsieur Talbot finally said, although he sounded nothing like himself.

Erik fixed his steely gaze on his former music teacher. "I do not fear any man. Certainly neither of you."

But he stepped aside and allowed them into his room. After hesitating again, he closed the door behind them.

When neither of them spoke, he spread his hands wide and said with quiet and firmness, "I assume you are here because of your daughter. Or perhaps because of your son, Monsieur Allard. Twenty four years is a long time for revenge, although I'm sure your wife has gloated to you of her brief victory. But I digress. I meant to discuss your daughter. I was not going to harm her last night. She injured herself, and nearly the child, running around in the dark like she was. I didn't take one step towards her. When she-"

"We aren't here because of that," Henri interrupted him. "I know what she did. I'm terribly sorry about that, she is as well. I know what...I know what Guinevere did as well. Erik-"

This time it was Henri who was cut off with an impatient gesture from Erik. His eyes narrowed behind the mask, and his mouth twisted into a sneer.

"How does it feel to be married to the highest priced prostitute in Paris?" he asked with a malicious tone. "She used to come into the theater with a new paramour on her arm, looking as beautiful as the surface of a frozen pond. There is nothing inside her heart, is there? Perhaps she and I have something in common, after all."

"She is no longer my wife," Henri said quietly. "She hasn't been for a long time. But we didn't come here to discuss her either."

"Then why are you here?" he demanded. "If it isn't your wife or your children, monsieur, then why the Hell are you here?"

Strained silence filled the room, and Erik struggled to control his rage and anger.

"For _my_ children," Monsieur Talbot whispered. He raised his eyes to Erik's, sweet emotion choking his words, his mind so tightly and thoroughly he wanted to die.

Confusion swept though the younger man's eyes, as well as irritation.

"You're speaking in riddles," Erik snapped. "I haven't the time, nor the inclination for your games, monsieur."

"Adam Dessain was not your father, Erik. I am."

Those green eyes narrowed again, this time to slits behind the mask.

"Fascinating."

"It's the truth," he whispered. "Francine and I..."

He shrugged helplessly and looked to Henri for guidance.

"Dessain was in prison for fifteen years before he ever came here, Erik. You were eleven at the time," Henri said softly. "Francine didn't want to tell you the truth about Colin, because she never expected him to get out. Apparently he escaped."

"Apparently."

"You don't believe us," Colin said softly. "You don't-"

"It's an interesting story, gentleman. Lucky for you, I'm feeling particularly amused, and am no longer in the mood for killing you. I'd advise you to leave right now, though, because the feeling will not last."

Colin moved towards him, and Erik stepped away just as quickly.

"Oh, I'd really advise against _that_," he said in a deadly whisper. His eyes remained on his music teacher, feeling the rage boiling so rapidly he longed to kill. An emotion he had thought he had overcome. An instinct he never wanted to feel again. "I'm afraid the pleasure of your company has worn thin. I'd like to ask you to leave."

"Erik-"

"Now, _by God_, I'm telling you!" he roared suddenly, his eyes suddenly showing the horrendous fire he felt throughout his entire body.

"I've come every year," Colin bit out, his own eyes showing pain and regret. "Every year, I came here in the summer, hoping you'd come back. I went the year that bitch admitted she'd left you in that cage, and I slapped her so hard I rattled her teeth loose. But you were gone! Gone! And you'll never know how much I regret not telling you, not-"

His word were abruptly cut off as Erik clamped a hand around his throat. He didn't merely squeeze, but he didn't exert full pressure either. He pulled Colin close to him, and the man didn't fight him at all, just stared at him with wide eyed shock.

"If you ever approach me again, I will do to you what Adam Dessain did to me and my mother. I will beat you senseless, and light you on fire. Even if your story is true, we are nothing. We will never be anything. Have you heard of the Phantom, music teacher? The Opera Ghost?"

He had the satisfaction of seeing Colin's eyes widen. Erik nodded his head in a slow and mocking gesture.

"Oh yes, I am the Phantom, monsieur, and all the rumors about me are true. Did you hear my opera, monsieur? Did I receive good reviews?" he chuckled. "I regret, I did not stay in Paris long enough to find out. I had a certain...situation, you see...a certain _soprano_ that I wished to avoid seeing married...so I left. Tell me, did you hear my _Don Juan Triumphant?_"

He shook the man slightly, although he did not put any more pressure on his throat. Colin's hands reached up to cover his, and Erik looked at them in casual disdain.

"Do you know why I wrote _Don Juan_?" he shouted. "Because I am very good looking, am I not? Do you want to see Erik's face?" he screamed, his eyes filling with sudden tears of rage and grief. "No! I will not show you Erik's face! Erik is dead! Erik is dead! Horror, horror, horror!"

Erik released the man and turned away, his shoulders shaking in anger and pain. How had he managed to let go of it...how had his control slipped so quickly away? He had promised himself this time..._this time_...but it was no different. He had never been able to maintain it for long, at least not around people. Especially ones who had pried as much, and disturbed him as much as these two fools.

"Colin, are you alright?" he heard Henri ask, and the sounds of choking behind him. He turned to see the man claiming to be his father struggling to breath. Henri looked up at him, his face pale and eyes filled with fear. "I tried to save you, Erik. I tried, so very hard. It's not too late...it's never too late..."

"I don't need saved, monsieur," he said in a flat tone. "I am beyond redemption, and have never found faith useful anyway. I advise you to leave. My patience does not last, and it has grown deceptively longer in the last minute."

"Co-come with m-me," Colin wheezed softly. "P-please...come," he paused to cough, his eyes watering with tears and the force of strangulation. "J-Jackson, Lily...your...your..."

He broke off again, his throat aching with sadness and the damage it had sustained.

"Your siblings, Erik. He means your siblings."

Erik's eyes slid over to Colin, who nodded painfully. "Sister...brother. St-stepmother."

With impassively calm eyes, and the rest of his features indiscernible, he said in a slow and amazingly patient tone. "I'm leaving the inn. Don't try to find me, and you might warn your...children...that it would not be wise to find me. I think you might be able to tell them first hand what happens when they awaken the Phantom. Erik is dead. I did not come here to rekindle friendships...or start new ones. I am alone in this world, and am quite content. The only thing I wanted was to say goodbye to my mother, and I have done so. I also wanted to spit on my father's grave. I thought I had done so," he paused, and spit very directly onto Monsieur Talbot's boot, "but I guess I will have to settle for the next best thing. Now get out."


	22. Phantom

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Colin and Henri walked past the very wide eyed Dumonts, not bothering to stop and have a word with them. They were both shocked at the raw and vicious animal they had just encountered. The wounded angry man that had nearly crushed Colin's windpipe, then spit upon his boot.

There was very little else you could do to a man you had no respect for, than to spit upon him. Erik had demonstrated just how little regard he had for the man who sired him. Not that Colin could blame him...he had never expected this to be easy.

But Christ...Erik was the _Phantom_? He hadn't even believed the story himself. Colin's work had never been performed in the Opera Populaire, but the rumors and stories that floated around had been endless. There were stories of ghosts in nearly every theater in the world...but none quite so famous as the Phantom. And he had read reviews for Don Juan. He had read that such music should never be allowed to be heard by decent God fearing people again. It had been too shocking...appalling, really. Devastatingly seductive, and hauntingly beautiful...but far too arousing to be sang in pubic. To his knowledge, no score had ever been found of it. That was regretful. He would love to hear Erik's music.

When they arrived back at the manor, Jackson and Lily were waiting for them, looking eagerly behind his shoulders.

"Where is he?" Jackson asked, frowning at his father.

"No, Jackson," Colin managed, although his throat was aching.

Jackson looked at his father, and noticed the bruises on his neck immediately.

"What the hell happened?"

Colin and Henri glanced at each other.

"An unforeseen consequence of revealing skeletons, Jackson, nothing more," Colin said roughly. "It will take time..."

"You can't seriously still be considering-"

"Henri, he's my son," Colin snapped, then winced at the pain in his throat. "I'm not giving up on him. I never have, and I will not start tonight."

"For God's sakes, he just admitted to being the Phantom of the bloody Opera!"

"The _Phantom!_" Lily exclaimed, "How exciting! When do I get to meet him?"

"No," Colin said softly. "You need to leave him in peace, at least for now. And no one," he looked at them all, "_no one_ will say anything more about the Phantom. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Yes, Sir."

"Whatever you wish, Colin. But I don't think it would be wise to confront him again," Henri said gently. "Obviously he has been through great trauma in his life, and he may not be able to recover."

"He has to," Colin whispered, although he touched his throat tentatively. "He has to, or I will never be able to redeem myself."

* * *

Erik packed his things and stopped in the lobby in front of a clearly nervous Monsieur Dumont. Madame Dumont was not seen, but heard rather, breathing rapidly behind the door of the taproom.

"You don't have to ask," he said calmly. "I'm going. Here," he laid far more money down than the room was worth. "A month's rent, which you may use however you wish. I apologize for the disturbance."

"Th-thank you," Martin whispered, although he did not look up into the blank green eyes, or into the impenetrable black mask. The man was clearly terrified.

"I'm not going to harm you," Erik said softly. "I have no grudge against either of you."

Still, the man did not look up, and at long last Erik left him there with another pile of money. He retrieved Cesar and rode out of town, passing the home of Colin Talbot, and all the other Talbot's that were occupied within.

Strangely the thought of a brother held more appeal than anything, although he had no plans on finding and meeting him. Derrik had been his brother, and Susanna sort of a sister...but those memories and dreams had been abandoned long ago. They were nothing but useless thoughts for a troubled man, and did nothing but anger him.

"Christine. Christine. Christine."

He used his techniques to numb his mind, although he was certain he was too raw for it to have the desired affect. His control had vanished...along with it his protective shield, and patience.

Erik wasn't sure what to make of the night's discoveries. Yes, he was alone...he had thought he had been literally alone...as in having no other family.

Blood ties had meant nothing to him for too long.

He had thought he had blood ties to Adam Dessain, but those had been false. It made no sense...not when he had accepted his nickname so readily.

_The Devil's Child._

Yes, when they'd given it to him, he had indeed believed it. Adam Dessain had been the Devil.

Danoir said only the son of Satan would bear the mark of Hell. Erik had not used a mask until they'd begun saying that. He had finally done as Madame Allard suggested, and put a sack over his head.

Danoir removed it for show...it was his...grand_ finale_...

He rode his horse out to the place where he earned his mark of Hell, and decided it was as good of place as any to set up. They ought to know better than come finding him by now...and if it was the gendarmes...well...he had taken care of them before. He would do it again. He had no doubt Henri would keep little Susanna away from him, and if she knew what was good for her, she would stay back anyway.

He lay back on the foundation in with the warm May night as his blanket. Cesar wandered around the fenced in yard in contentment, although it was easily escapable. Erik avoided the stars by closing his eyes, not wanting to see the constellations he had learned so painstakingly for Adam Dessain. He had avoided them for years, unless he needed them for traveling.

He wished his mother had told him...he felt a strange twinge in his chest as he remembered the last time he saw Monsieur Talbot at the church. He had already told him goodbye at his music lesson...but he had come back and said it again.

He tried to close that thought, but it had already taken root in his hopelessly battered heart.

"No," he whispered. "It is of no consequence. He has other children, Phantom. They are perfect Angels. He does not need you. _Your father does not want you!_"

What had he called them?

Jackson and Lily.

Perfect names, for no doubt perfectly boring little British snots. They would not appreciate having a bastard, hideously ugly brother, any more than his wife would appreciate acknowledging a bastard son.

And Erik certainly didn't need them. Or want them, for that matter. Too much had been taken already...too many times hope had been ripped from his bleeding hands. Far too often he'd grown hoarse asking for mercy...but it never came. He'd stopped living as a man...as a human...long ago. And from there, there had been nowhere to go but down.

And he had fallen all the way. Even if he began climbing now, it would be too late.

The pit of despair was so deep and hopelessly bleak, he could not even find the first rung in the darkness. After groping for what had felt like an eternity, Erik had given up...but that had been a long time ago.

* * *

Susanna stared at her father through tears as he told her about the encounter with Erik. She had not expected it to go well...but the way he had lost control...she had not expected it. She could not believe it, although she was glad something was beneath that veneer of ice he had given to her. Even if it was infinite anger.

But the _Phantom_?

She knew about the Phantom. Her mother had told stories...even Julien...although she had never really believed those accounts in the newspaper. Julien had tried to take her to Opera Populaire, but she had never wanted to go. It would mean an evening with her mother...and she had no desire to see her flaunting herself in front of her current protector. Mortification could not describe the shame she felt at having a mother as a prostitute. Once she had found out...and she had been surprisingly dull witted about it...and she had found out about Julien as well...it had taken every ounce of energy not to tear her to shreds.

But Erik, the _Phantom_?

The flaming head...the empty, blank sockets...the smell of death...

His eyes were empty, of emotion, yes, but the rest was a bunch of...of...horse apples.

"Where is he now?" she asked softly.

"He said he was leaving the inn. I don't know where he's going...he may be leaving town," Henri said sadly.

"No!" she exclaimed. "I haven't finished speaking with him."

"If he's still here, you need to stay away from him Susanna. You didn't see what I saw tonight. He was a madman. He's in a lot of pain...don't bother him."

"I have to, Papa. He could have been Derrik," she cried. "That could have been _Derrik_ who lived...what would people have treated him like? And Erik was my brother too...my friend. He has been through so much," she whispered, "and my mother did most of this to him...she sent him home that day...she left him in that cage. I can't leave him like this, Papa. Not since I know where he is...and what he's endured. I have to speak with him."

Henri stared at his daughter, looking very young and very small as she pleaded with him.

"You must be careful, Susanna. You have two children to think of...and you are all I have left. You and my grandchildren."

"Erik would not hurt me," she protested.

"Well, I don't think this is Erik we are dealing with," he said sharply. "This is the _Phantom_, Susanna, and you will do well not to forget him."


	23. The Planning Phase

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik rode south to another village just outside of Orleans and submitted a materials list at a sawmill. The man working there had eyed him with suspicion, until he'd told him who he was. Apparently Adam Dessain _had _been some sort of military figure, and was still regarded as a brave soldier. Although it took considerable toleration on his part, he listened to the man talk about Lieutenant Colonel Dessain at Waterloo, and on the Peninsula.

"The materials?" Erik finally said, cutting off a story about the defeat of a village full of British sympathizers.

"Right, right," the man muttered. "We'll have them delivered to you in a couple of days."

"What about the rest of these things?" he asked, pointing to his list. "Where can I get these?"

"Well, there's a good general store in Artenay. They should have what you need, or you can go down the road to Mader's. But if you're planning on riding all the way back, I'd recommend going to your own village."

"Perfect," he muttered, but took his list and left. It had been a two day ride here, and it would be a two day ride back. He wondered if they had stopped looking for him, or if they all really had a death wish. Camping beneath the stars again had lost its appeal entirely, but he hadn't passed an inn on the way, not that he would have bothered stopping.

He'd forgotten how bloody hot it was in May. For the last year he'd been high in the Alps, and no matter how many clothes he wore, it was not enough to keep warm. Living in the theater had been no different. And now, he would have to begin shedding clothes like normal people, when he was not normal at all. Even the damned wig was uncomfortable, although that was not a surprise.

By the time he made it back to Artenay, he was in a particularly foul mood, which was also not a surprise. He stopped at the Boef's store and gave Madame Boef his list. She didn't comment on him, or really look at him at all, but disappeared into the back and returned with her husband.

"Monsieur Dessain," Armand Boef said politely. "You are in need of building supplies?"

"If you please, Monsieur Boef," Erik said evenly. "Do you have those things?"

"I do," he said simply, but continued to stare at Erik.

He reached into his pocket wordlessly, and began unrolling money, "How much will it take, then, to get them bought, and delivered? How much will it take for you to conduct business with me?"

"The price, of course, plus a small delivery fee. Are you building something, monsieur?"

"I am," Erik said softly, leaving more than enough money for the man to sort through. "Keep the extra. Just think of it as prepaid credit."

He glanced down at the stack of money, then back up at Erik.

"You're building something?" he prompted again.

"A house, monsieur, I'm building a house," Erik said softly.

* * *

Word of Erik's return spread through the village again, and by the time Susanna was finished teaching for the day there were another group of teams outside the schoolroom. Anger boiled her blood as she looked at Randolf Vallee sitting on his bench, beaming down on her.

"May I see you inside?" she asked crisply, and without waiting for an answer sailed back into the classroom.

He came through the door, looking quite pleased with himself.

"Your protection, as always, Madame, is my priority," he said cheerfully.

"And who," Susanna said quietly, "do I need protection from? I pray that you are not going to mention Erik Dessain's name."

"Susanna-"

"Madame Croix," she said sharply. "And this is ridiculous. I have known him, and been friends with him, longer than I have known you or anyone else."

"Madame Croix," he said in a slightly cooler tone, "It is not only your welfare at stake. There is a village full of children to be protective of."

"That's quite enough!" she said furiously, "I cannot believe _you_ would insinuate something like that about him. You grew up with him as well! Do you not remember what happened to him? Do you not know why he has to wear a mask? Why my brother would have to, if it had been him? He is not some evil creature, just because he has to wear a mask! He suffered a terrible tragedy, and he has been ostracized for it! I will not hear of this anymore. You are not to come here anymore, do you understand?"

Randolf stared at her in shock. He had never seen her so upset. He had not considered the closeness she had with the man at one time...and he did remember what happened to both of the boys. He had seen Derrik Allard's body, and his stomach revolted at the memory. He'd been a couple of years older than both of them, and he remembered quite clearly the smell of burned flesh, and the mouth that had been twisted into an endless, silent scream.

"I...I'm sorry," he whispered, "I never thought...I never considered. Please forgive me, Madame Croix."

"Perhaps you could remind other people," Susanna said softly. "I didn't mean to snap at you, honestly. But this has affected me more than you could possibly know. I have never forgotten, and I never will. He shouldn't be punished for something he had no control over. And...and I'd advise you against confronting him. He really just wants to be left alone. I don't even think he'll be staying long."

Randolf looked at her in confusion. "Then why is he rebuilding his mother's house?"

_"What?"_

"He hasn't told you?" he asked slowly. "I thought you were...close..."

"At one time," she said weakly. "But no, I have barely spoken to him. He doesn't want to see me," she hesitated a moment, "is he...is he building it...there?"

"Yes. I...I just thought of this...do you suppose he would need some help? My nephew, and some other boys from the village are in need of some employment. Do you suppose he would take them on?" he asked haltingly.

"I don't know," she said in alarm, "he may not want to be disturbed. He...he has quite a temper...when provoked."

He nodded, "Perhaps I'll speak to him first. I really must be going, Madame Croix. I apologize once again. I meant no disrespect to...to your brother. Or Erik."

She inclined her head, not telling him that they had both been her brothers.

Erik was rebuilding his house? She thought he had been gone. He'd checked out of the inn, and no one had seen him. He'd been gone almost five days, during which Colin had begun panicking. Well, he would be pleased now, she thought. He was rebuilding the house, which no doubt would take considerable time.

Perhaps there was hope for him here after all. Perhaps even the village would accept him, if they would remember what had happened to him, and what had made him into such a bitter and angry man. She hoped that there was something she could do for him as well...and she hoped she could apologize to him the way she wanted to.

For screaming at him, for running away. For her mother...and for all the other things that weren't even her fault.

* * *

Erik was arranging his newly delivered lumber the next morning when he heard the sounds of horses hooves striking the dirt. They turned at the cottage and began coming toward him, and through the trees he made out three riders. He retrieved Cesar from his ramblings around the yard and tied him securely to the old wash line. The memory of helping his mother on wash day hit him for a moment, and he remembered the way her eyes had always danced in the sunlight.

He swallowed hard and turned his back on it, and began arranging things again. They rode right up into the yard and to his surprise dismounted. He had fully expected them to look down on him while they told him his plans for building the house had been canceled.

"May I help you?" he asked quietly, not bothering to stop what he was doing.

"Erik...Monsieur Dessain? I'm not sure if you remember me-"

"Randolf Vallee."

The other two riders he didn't know.

Randolf stared at the man for a moment, not surprised by the curtness of his tone, or the unsubtle way he was being ignored. "Right...of course you remember me. You...you and Derrik took the blame for many of the pranks my brother and I played on the schoolteacher."

Erik stopped moving and glanced at him over his shoulder, "Do you have something to say to me, or am I to guess at your reason for being here?"

"I heard you were rebuilding the house," he said nervously. "I wondered if you might like...like a couple of young men to help. My nephew Eli, and his friend Lucien Boef."

The dark green eyes moved to both of the young men, who were not looking at him. He thought he detected resentment on both of their faces, and wondered if this was punishment for them...or if they were being sent to spy on him.

Neither really mattered to him...but he did need someone. He just hadn't expected it, or planned on it.

"Do they know anything about this line of work?"

"This will be Eli's first time, but he is a hard worker on the farm, and he can learn. Lucien?" Randolf prompted.

The boy raised his eyes to Erik's momentarily. "My father often gets clients like you in the store. I usually work for them to earn a little money, monsieur."

He doubted his father ever had a client like him, but it was a good enough explanation.

"I'm not easy to work for," he warned them both. "And I haven't done this in many years. But I pay very well."

"They'll take it," Randolf said. "When do you want them to start?"

"Right now. Tie off your horses, and get to work."


	24. Vagabond

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"This is driving me mad, Jackson," Lily complained. "He's been here nearly a week, and we haven't even met him."

"So what do you propose?" he asked dryly. "That we ride out there and say hello?"

"Why not?" she frowned, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. "It's not as if we're strangers. He knows we exist, we know who he is...what is the point in this infernal waiting?"

Jackson stared at his little sister through amused green eyes, "Perhaps so that he doesn't thrash us, Lil. Ever think of that?"

"Oh, I'd like to see him try," she grinned, and raised her fist. "He'd have two reasons not to mess with me."

"I doubt you'd have much effect on him," he grinned back. "You never hurt me, and I hear he's a lot bigger than I am."

Lily made a face at him. So if they couldn't just ride out there...and he wouldn't come here...

"Why don't you go out there and work for him?" she asked suddenly.

"Who, _me_? Jackson stared at her in horror. "I don't know the first thing about building a house."

"Well, he doesn't know that, and he can always fire you. Surely you can manage to be competent for a few hours, and you can refuse payment when he gives you the can," she leaned forward, her brown eyes sparkling, "do it, Jackson. Come on, the suspense is killing me."

Jackson sighed wearily. He knew nothing about building houses. He was twenty four, and didn't know much of anything except music. Not that it had ever gotten him anywhere. His father was successful...apparently his brother to some extent, and his sister was a magnificent singer, although she had no desire to pursue a career. But the suspense was killing him as well. He'd always wanted to meet this Erik. His older brother. His only brother.

He'd heard about him forever. His father talked about him, about how much potential he had as a musician, about the tragedy that had stolen his youth. He never mentioned the mask, although it was known by all of them that his face had been damaged. Jackson knew it was his father's deepest regret, that he had not claimed him when he had the chance.

And Colin had not been an emotional man, except where Erik was concerned. Very rarely...very few times had he ever seen his father cry. There was a day in late summer though, that he had wept on nearly every year. It had only been a few years ago that he understood the significance of the day. The day of the murder of Derrik Allard and Francine Dessain. The day Erik had been injured, and Monsieur Allard had killed who Erik believed to be was his father.

"Will you do it?"

Jackson glared at her a moment. "Why me?"

Lily pretended to gaze around the room for a moment, "Yes, I suppose I could choose one of my other brothers...oh wait," she snapped. "I only have you. What a pity. Now will you do it?"

He scowled and sulked, but he finally agreed. His sister had always gotten her way.

* * *

"What's that, Mama?" Daniel asked as she set him on his pony. 

He was looking in the direction of the woods, beyond to the place where hammering could be heard in the early morning light.

"Monsieur Dessain is working," she replied, adjusting his saddle for him.

"But it's Sunday," he protested. "He isn't supposed to be working today," he leaned down close to her and whispered, "it's God's day."

"That's right," she agreed. "I suppose Monsieur Dessain forgot what day it was. But he's likely to forget a lot of things until he gets his house built. See?" she raised her hands to the sky. "Right now he has no wall to hang his calender on, so how could he _possibly_ know that it was Sunday?"

Daniel looked at her doubtfully, but accepted her explanation without further question. She hadn't seen him since that day at the inn, although she had walked halfway to his 'house' half a dozen times, only to walk back to her cottage to brood and contemplate what she would say.

She knew Erik was sleeping outside because Randolf Vallee had told her when he told her about the boys working for him. There were four of them by now, and Erik had firmly refused anymore. Perhaps, he said, later when it was time to begin work inside, but he had all the framers he possibly needed.

Susanna climbed onto her horse and took Elisabeth from her father. He was content to walk to church, as he had for many years now. Daniel urged his pony into a reluctant half trot, but it was all he ever earned out of the slow moving beast. She never had to worry about him bolting, although he was prone to biting.

At the small church, which she had grown up in, and attended faithfully every week with her children, there were curious stares all around. She tried not to feel annoyed, but it was honestly very difficult, although no one asked questions, and no one seemed surprised when he didn't attend. Her mind wandered throughout the service, and she wondered if he was eating enough, and if it was comfortable sleeping on the ground.

Rand had told her Erik assured him that he was accustomed to living outside, and would manage well enough until the house was complete. But that could take months to finish. What would he do until then?

She was still contemplating it when she arrived back at the cottage.

"Can we go see Monsieur Dessain?" Daniel asked, looking up at her with Julien's dark eyes.

"You want to see Monsieur Dessain?" she asked in shock. "Why?"

He frowned at her, "To remind him its Sunday, of course."

She chuckled, "I think we'll let him figure it out for himself."

Then she stopped. _Why not?_ It gave her as good of an excuse as any, and she could still hear him working over there. She considered leaving the children with her father, but immediately dismissed it. And there was something else she could do for him too.

While Daniel happily changed into his regular clothes, Susanna prepared him a heaping plate from what would soon be their regular Sunday dinner. She would have invited him, but she knew he wouldn't accept, and this way she wouldn't feel awkward by taking a plate to him later.

Daniel dutifully, and very carefully, carried the basket, along with a pitcher of lemonade, which she somehow remembered Erik liking. She carried Elisabeth, who tried very hard to make her mother laugh by showing her the new trick of crossing her eyes. If she hadn't been concerned that she'd fall with her again, she'd have done it back.

The yard was kept up by her and her father. They hadn't wanted to ever see the place again, but it was out of Francine and Derrik's memory that they came over at least twice a year and removed weeds from Francine's roses, and made sure no weeds or vines began choking out the fence. Erik was standing amidst the skeleton frame of the house, which barely encompassed three quarters of the foundation. He took a measure, and walked over to a saw horse and made a cut on a board. When he lifted it to take it back to the wall he spotted them at the edge of the yard watching him.

Instead of stopping, he continued what he was doing, so Susanna set the basket near the steps and allowed Elisabeth to crawl around in the grass. When he saw the girl he paused, "There could be nails. You shouldn't set her down right there."

Daniel immediately began a hands and knee search through the grass, bravely looking for any nails his sister could find.

Erik continued working for a few minutes, looking back occasionally to see if they had left. They hadn't. Susanna was sitting in the grass with her daughter, and he was fairly certain she was poking her tongue at her. The child squealed, a sound so high pitched he shrugged his shoulders to rid his ears of the abuse. She buried her face in the girl's neck and made a hungry growling noise. By the time he'd hit his thumb for the third time, he was ready to quit, if only to see what they wanted so he could be rid of them.

He went to the edge of the foundation and sat down, looking down at the basket with mild interest, and the lemonade with a little more.

"Why are you here?" he asked in annoyed tone. "Haven't I made it perfectly clear I'm not interested in talking with you?"

"You have," she replied, but continued to play with her daughter.

Daniel turned around to look at him and studied the mask for a moment. Apparently deciding it was not that unusual he said , "We came to remind you it's Sunday! You're not supposed to work on Sunday."

"I'll have to remember that," Erik said softly, but didn't add that he really wasn't concerned about Sundays.

Elisabeth turned at the man's voice, her blue eyes wide as she stared at him.

"Mam!" she pointed at him, "Eeew!"

Erik didn't flinch, he merely stared at her daughter.

"Those are basically the only words she knows," Susanna said softly.

Erik didn't reply, and watched in horror as the girl stood and began walking to him. He longed to do a crab walk and move away from her, but she continued moving forward on unsteady, and very chubby legs. Elisabeth didn't stop until she reached his legs, which hung over the edge of the foundation towards the ground. She wasn't quite the height of his knee, but she sank down and began playing with the tops of his boots. The small tassel there intrigued her, and she tugged on it for a moment, her mouth frowning in her determination to remove it.

Susanna didn't detect any emotion in his eyes as Elisabeth pulled at his boot tassel. He didn't try to pull away, or so much as shoo her off as she looked up at him, then returned to the task. As much as she wanted to call her back, it was the fear of offending him that held her tongue. If he wanted her to get Elisabeth, he should say something.

He didn't.

Instead she watched as he reached out and touched her soft blond curls, and Elisabeth immediately looked back up at him.

"Mam!" she said happily, then a very long and drawn out, _"Eeew!"_

"Eeew," he confirmed in a quiet voice.

The solemn way he said it should have made her laugh, if it had been any other person. Instead it was Erik, and she knew he was really saying what he felt was the truth.

It couldn't have been as bad as Derrik...nothing could have been as bad as his face, as his entire body.

"Are you building it exactly as it was?" Susanna asked suddenly. She looked up at the sky, as if expecting the house to suddenly materialize. As if she could see the window her brother had jumped from.

"Yes."

"And do you remember every detail?" she asked softly.

He hesitated, deciding it was a safe enough conversation. He was here...she was over there...although he really wished the child would wander off and find something more interesting. "I cannot remember colors," he admitted. "I think the house was white on the outside, but I'm not certain. I think there was trim paint around the windows, but I cannot remember what color. The inside colors...well, I have no idea. I know my...," he paused a moment and looked away, "...my room was blue, and my mother's room was yellow. The rest...I don't know."

"The kitchen was white," she offered, sitting up straighter when his eyes shot to hers. "I remember making cookies with her. The cabinets were...," she closed her eyes, "...they were made of some sort of dark wood. I think her dining room was a dark red, possibly burgundy."

"You remember?" he asked, a tone of eagerness in his voice.

"Some things," she said softly, opening her eyes to look at him. "There was carpet in some of the rooms. Rugs in others, but I can't remember what type of floor was beneath it."

He did, though he didn't say anything. He remembered what kind of floor his mother had spit blood on, and what he'd rolled his face on while he tried to move away from the flames.

Stone on the lower level of the house. His mother had been on carpet, though, once again he couldn't recall the color. All he'd seen that day was red, and the rest of his memories were gone.

"I brought you something to eat," she said, and finally moved off the grass towards the basket. "Some lemonade," she showed him the pitcher and pulled a glass from her basket. "And food...I brought you a little of everything. I'm afraid I wasn't sure what you would eat."

"It wasn't necessary."

She fixed him with a long look. "I know it wasn't necessary. I wanted to do it."

"I don't need your charity," he said with narrowed eyes. "I manage fine on my own."

"I never said you didn't," she said, beginning to feel exasperated. "We're to be neighbors again. Aren't you at least interested in company on occasion?"

"I have no intention of spending one night under this roof once it's finished."

She stared at him, finally understanding the house wasn't about somewhere to live...or for memories. It was a symbol, and a dedication to his mother.

"Where will you go?" she questioned. "Will you go back to Paris?"

Those eyes narrowed further. "Never."

"Why don't you stay here? People here remember you. If you'd open up a little...not be so...so angry looking-"

"I think it's time you leave," he interrupted coldly.

She moved closer to him and picked Elisabeth up.

"And I think it's time you stopped running."

* * *

I know most houses in 19th century France were made of stone, but just go with me. I'm sorry I haven't updated my sequel in the last 2 days, but I promise I will get to it. Sometimes a story just flows, and this one is finally moving in the direction I wanted it to. 


	25. The Deal

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik continued to glare at her, and she suddenly smiled. A glimmering of the man was finally seen in those eyes. It wasn't the boy she remembered, but at least she knew she had touched a nerve.

He regarded her for a moment, uncertain why she was smiling at him, but not liking it in the least.

"How's your mother doing, Madame Croix?" he asked softly, enjoying the way the smile slid off her face. "Still earning a living on satin sheets? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were looking to go into the family business. I regret to inform you, I have no need of your services. Go back to your husband."

"I'm not married," she said coolly. "My husband died more than a year ago."

"My condolences," he replied, but he didn't sound in the least bit sorry.

"As for my mother, yes, I'm certain she's still engaged in...nefarious activities. And, oh, I assure you...I am _not _interested in soliciting favors from any man. Certainly not someone I've always considered my brother," she said with anger lacing her dark blue eyes. She leaned close to him, so close that Elisabeth dared to reach out toward his face, but Susanna firmly placed a hand over her daughter's and pulled it back to her side. She searched his eyes, and what she could see of his face, but he was once again calm and unapproachable. "And you, Erik, do you not have any desire to remember the girl I was? Or the boy you were? What about Derrik? Are we all just painful reminders of that day...one single horrible day out of a thousand good ones?"

"No. I have no desire, Madame Croix. No desire to remember you, or Derrik, or anything else about the past. I have no desire at all. That boy is gone, and you do not want to know the man he has become," he said in a whisper that sent a shiver along her spine. "I promise, Adam Dessain was nothing compared to what I am, and you would do well to remember it."

The words sent dread and fear in her heart, but she must not give up so easily. There had to be something good left inside of him. Something of the brother and friend she had lost.

"Because of the Phantom?" she dared to ask.

He lifted his chin, and his eyes inspected her face carefully, as if searching for some recognition of who she really was. "The Phantom was nothing, Madame, compared to the Trap Door Lover. The Phantom is nothing compared to what I did before I ever went to Paris. Do you really want your children this close to a murderer? Because that's what I am."

"I know about Danoir," she said softly. "I would never blame you for taking your captor's life."

"Danoir?" he asked suspiciously. "What do you know of him?"

She shifted Elisabeth on her hip, her eyes leaving his to stare at the ground. "My father went to the Gypsy camp, but you were already gone. R-Rulv, he confirmed that they had kept you..."

She looked back up to him, seeing his mouth parted slightly, and for a moment she saw something in his eyes. He looked away from her, and she studied his face and mask intently. Almost immediately she could tell that he wore a wig. Now that she was this close, she could see the line that separated his skin and hair, and a few strands of his own dark hair was visible around his ear. The mask dominated his face, but his lips were full and normal, the skin that was visible was healthy and tanned.

"Why did your father try to find me?" he whispered. "How did he know...?"

"My mother," she said softly. "She was a very cruel woman, Erik. I know what she did to you."

She set Susanna on the ground and moved beside him on the foundation. Tentatively she touched his arm, but he pulled away, glaring at her.

"I prefer not to be touched," he said curtly.

"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I won't...I won't do it again."

"See that you don't."

She longed to do it again. To reach out and touch him...not with hesitation...she wanted to put her arms around him and cry. She wanted to see if he would do the same, or if he would tense up like an old bear and continue to snarl and growl at her. She had never seen anyone in so much pain, and seeing it inside of him, no matter how hard he tried to repress it was breaking her heart.

"My mother told me she saw you in a cage," Susanna whispered. "Did she say anything to you?"

He clenched his jaw and looked away. His eyes focused on Daniel, who was sitting in resigned boredom tearing blades of grass apart. "Yes." He didn't volunteer the dialog of their conversation.

"Did...did they always beat you?"

"Why do you want to know?" he snapped. "Do you think _they_ made me this way? No! I made a conscious decision, based on who I thought my father was, and I damned well lived up to his name!"

"People are not born evil," she said quietly. "And you most certainly were not."

"Maybe not then, Madame, but I am now," he replied with a dark look.

"I don't believe that."

"Then you are just as ignorant as your father," Erik ground out harshly, "you, and the rest of the fools who believed they could save me. I don't need saving. I'm too far beyond it."

"Adam wasn't your father," she persisted. "Even if he had been, it wouldn't have made you evil."

"No," he said with diminishing patience. "It was my actions! My deeds, my music! It has been every miserable moment I spent away from here. Do you mind, honestly? I would rather not be having this conversation."

He stood and glared down at her then deposited the basket roughly in her lap.

"Take your damned food, and your children, and get the hell out of here."

Not surprised in the least, she set the food down and picked Elisabeth up and called Daniel to her side. He glared at her for defying him, but did not approach her with the basket again.

"You may visit anytime, Erik. Perhaps you'd like your mother's jewelry. My father has it somewhere," she called over her shoulder as she took her children out of the yard and through the woods.

Erik watched her go with mixed feelings. She certainly had not changed in some regards. She thought she could get her way, thought she could push and push until she got what she wanted. Unfortunately for her, he was not the sort of man who liked to be pushed, and if she kept it up, he would be forced to push back.

Her touch though...and the touch of the child...he must forget that. He had to forget the strange sensations that had knifed through his soul. They were innocent. And he could no more ruin another innocent life...he would not have another Christine...not ever.

Susanna may have been married, and had children with her husband, but she was still innocent in the matters of the world. She wouldn't understand what he had become. She wouldn't accept it if she knew the truth, and he was certain there wasn't anyone who would.

* * *

Jackson walked into the yard at half past nine, seeing that several men were already in the middle of their workday. He would have gotten up sooner, but he'd spent half the night listening to his father bent over the piano playing another of his fun killing songs about Erik, and listening to Lily cry beside him on the couch. His sister. She always acted like she could take on the world, but music had a way of opening the floodgates inside of her.

Several curious eyes turned his way as he walked through the gate, although there was only one pair he was interested in. He spotted his brother on top of a wall, taking measurements and calling them down to some kid with a piece of wood which he was writing on.

He was definitely in a foreign land.

"Erik Dessain?" he asked in what he hoped was a nice enough French accent.

Lily had laughed at him last night for it, but he hadn't seen anything wrong with it.

"Who are you?" the man asked in annoyance. "I have plenty of workers, boy, I need no more."

"Oh." Well this was going great.

"You can come back when we're finished framing," he muttered, barely looking down at him. "We'll need painters."

Jackson brightened a bit. "Good. I can paint. My name is Jack-"

"Fascinating. I'm sure your father is proud of you. Now do me a favor, and tell Colin Talbot I have no interest in him, or any of the other Talbot offspring," Erik grunted, but continued taking measurements. "And since I know who you are, you can forget the job offer. I'm sure you have enough money that you don't need mine."

Jackson stared up at him, the brightness of the day losing its glow. "No interest?" he repeated. "None at all?"

"No."

"We very much want to know you," he said quietly. "Lily and I especially."

"Do you know what happens to a man's head when it catches a hammer?" Erik mused with a smirk, looking up at the sky. "No? Keep at it, boy, and you're likely to find out."

"Oh, you're a prickly one, aren't you?" Jackson laughed, although it wasn't lighthearted. This man was perfectly serious. "You're fighting a losing battle with us, Erik. Lily and I won't let you continue evading us. Especially Lily. Quite the bull terrier, our sister."

"I don't have a sister," he snapped, and finally came down from the wall at such speed Jackson wondered when he had first moved. Standing over his brother by a few inches, he glared down at the younger man. "I have nothing. Do you understand? I don't want you, or anyone else interfering in my life. I just want to build a damned house!" he roared at him, feeling angrier when the boy showed no sign of fear.

He glanced up and saw the four men working under him staring.

"Get back to work!"

Immediately they resumed work, and he looked back at Jackson Talbot with unending fury. His heart seized, and he felt a jolt of recognition as his eyes focused and he saw the same eyes staring back at him that he looked at in the mirror. When he cared to look. Irritated further, he stepped back.

"Will you come to supper?" Jackson asked softly.

Startled, Erik looked up at him. "_What?_ N-no," he choked out then, "_no_," he finally said more firmly.

"What is the harm? We only come here because of you. I'm twenty four, and I have spent all twenty four of my summers in Artenay so our father could find you. Or rather, hope that you would return. Don't you at least want to meet Lily?"

"No," Erik whispered. "I want you to leave."

"I don't want to leave."

Erik glanced away, "Trust me, boy, you don't want to get to know me."

"That isn't for you to decide. It's something we've always wanted. And you'll like Lily," he promised, and flashed him a grin. "Most of the time," he amended.

"If I meet her will you go away?" Erik asked in annoyance, and carefully concealed interest.

"Be there tonight at seven."

"I didn't agree to supper," he protested.

"That's the deal, Phantom. Take it or leave it."


	26. Answers of the Past

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Henri set the wailing Elisabeth down on the floor and reached for the doorknob. Nothing could have shocked him more than seeing Erik standing apprehensively outside his door.

"Good morning," he greeted him after a moment.

"Monsieur Allard," Erik said slowly. "I...your daughter said something about my mother's jewelry?"

"Come in," he opened the door wider and turned away. "I'm sure I have it somewhere. I come across it occasionally, although it has been moved by my daughter when she cleans."

He headed for the library, and Erik stepped through the door, immediately finding Susanna's daughter on the floor. He hadn't been expecting Henri, and had no intentions of even coming inside, but he'd wanted to ask for something, and he wasn't quite sure how to do it.

His damn irritating little brother had continued to goad him until he'd finally given in, and only then did he realize he had no way of preparing his clothes, nor had a proper bath since he'd left the inn. Bathing in the lake at first light was not what he considered proper.

He stopped his thoughts.

Christ, had he just thought of that little snot as a little brother?

"Eeew!"

He looked down to see the girl crawling around at his feet.

"Ah," Henri said, carrying a small case, "I see you have met Elisabeth. Don't mind her limited vocabulary. I assure you, she thinks everything is either gross, or extremely good."

"Good! Mam!"

"Pap-paw," Henri corrected, handing Erik the case. "This is what he had on him...when...when he died. I guess the rest was lost in the fire. Nothing was salvageable from the rubble. "

Erik opened it and looked at several rings, earrings, and necklaces. His heart stirred in pain as he realized this was all he had of his mother's.

"How did he die?" he asked softly.

Henri made an inarticulate noise in his throat. Erik looked up to see his eyes closed and mouth open.

"I killed him, Erik. I never realized you didn't know. I...I thought that was why you left. Or one of the reasons."

"I didn't care," Erik grunted, "I only wish I had done it."

"I wish I had done it sooner," he whispered. "I had the chance, but your mother wouldn't let me take it."

"Why?" he looked up at Henri, "She obviously knew what he was like..."

"Will you come sit down?" Henri asked suddenly. "I'll tell you what I know of your mother and Dessain. We...we don't have to discuss Colin in detail...but I'll tell you about them too."

Erik hesitated, but finally nodded. Henri turned, "Will you bring the child with you? She's terribly heavy, and she's been sitting on my arm all day."

Erik looked down at Elisabeth, who had once again taken an interest in his boots. If they weren't his only pair, he'd cut the damn tassels off and give them to her. He took a step back, as if he expected her to follow, but she swayed unsteadily so he reached down and picked her up.

Wide eyed, she stared at him and clapped her hands around his cheeks. Around the mask actually. He loosened his hold on her after he realized he'd been squeezing her and held her several inches away from him. Walking like Frankenstein, he carried her into the library and set her on the floor.

"Sit, sit," Henri said, falling into his chair that looked exactly the same as it had when he'd been a boy. From what he remembered, it looked like nothing had changed. "How is the house coming along?"

"Fine."

"Susanna said you're building an exact replica. You must have acquired some architecture skills at some point," Henri prodded.

"At some point," he conceded, then glanced at the man staring expectantly at him. "I built some things in Persia. When I returned, I built houses for awhile then became one of the contractors for the foundation of the Opera Populaire."

"Persia?" Henri leaned forward in surprise. "That's very far away. How did you find yourself so far from home?"

He hesitated again, unsure how much of his past life he wanted to reveal. Persia had sickened him. He lost his taste for all things ugly there...all his depravity had caught up with him, and he'd been forced to flee. Being on hand for the little sultana had nearly destroyed all the beauty inside him, and entertaining her had ensured that forgiveness was not a path he could ever follow.

"I was farther away...I've been all across the Orient, and into the most desolate and frigid places in Russia. It was there, north of the Caspian Sea where the Daroga of Mazanderan found me. I was commissioned by the shah-in-shah to build a palace, and later by the Sultan himself. I submitted my designs, but I never saw either palace to completion. Secrets are terrible things to have in Mazanderan, and I knew far too many."

Henri stared at Erik in shock. He'd been all across the globe, this boy, and he said it with the casual indifference of someone who didn't care. He said it as calmly as if he'd mentioned the weather, or the color of the rainbow.

"I'm impressed. I...I always wanted to travel when I was younger, but I never had the chance."

Erik's eyes flickered down to Henri's left arm, which still was capable of movement, but could not support the weight of even a tea cup. "You were going to tell me about my mother," Erik reminded him.

"Yes. Of course," he cleared his throat and sat back. He watched as his granddaughter once again homed in on Erik's boot, and as Erik himself reached down and touched her hair for a moment, then drew his hand back quickly. It was like watching a nervous puppy trying to meet a kitten.

"Your mother and Adam moved here right after they married, and it wasn't hard to see very early on that something was wrong. We hardly ever saw Francine, or Adam either. He had been found guilty of treason, and stayed to himself for the most part. He didn't want to be caught. When he would allow her to leave the house she would be covered in bruises. Some men try to hide them, but he never did. I think that was what kept her inside, even more than him. They were here four years, during which he beat her for everything imaginable. From taking too long with his dinner, to casually mentioning something she might like to have," he cleared his throat again, unsure if he should say anything about it, but Erik was staring at him attentively so he lowered his eyes and said, "I know he forced his attentions on her as well. Right after...right after they took him...off to prison...Francine began coming over to visit Guinevere. At first she thought my wife liked her...that they were friends. Your mother was very naïve, very innocent about the ways women are deceitful. She knew enough of men. She told her about his abuse, but my wife...well...she was not a very kind woman. She mentioned it to some ladies in town, although I never proved anything, and neither did Francine."

"Was she...was she looked down on because of it?" Erik asked softly.

"Oh, no. It backfired right at Guin. Francine was found to be the poor mistreated wife, and my wife was beginning to show her true colors at that point."

"Why didn't everyone know about the treason?" he asked. "Shouldn't I have heard something other than Adam Dessain was a decorated hero?"

"No one knew he'd gone missing. It was awhile before anyone even asked...and she told them he was off fighting in some jungle or something. She was deeply ashamed of it, Erik. Of the entire thing, but most especially being married to him."

"Why did she?" he demanded, staring down at the girl who had managed to stand on her feet and was now patting his knee. Didn't she have a toy or something to play with? He glanced around the room for something, but it appeared he was the only thing interesting.

"I believe her father forced her. He was dying, and her mother was already dead. No one was left, but your grandfather was a military man as well, and he knew Adam from the Peninsular Wars. He arranged it right before he died."

What a caring man, Erik thought scornfully. He was beginning to have ideas of going to the cemetery and removing Dessain's body, and putting it as far away from his mother as he could.

"Tell me about...about...Talbot," he finally said flatly.

Henri was surprised Erik had asked, especially after what he'd seen the other night. Colin still had bruises on his throat from their encounter.

"They met here one night. Colin was an old university friend, and had recent success as a composer. My wife...she had invited Francine so there would be an even number of people, and we went to the schoolhouse and he played us a couple of his songs. Your mother was instantly taken with him, and my wife was outraged."

"Why?" he snorted, "He was never particularly talkative during our music lessons. I can't imagine him being_ that_ charming."

"Indeed," Henri laughed, "but whatever his appeal, they both were more than half in love with him by the end of the night. Your mother was the one who caught his eye, of course, Guin had just...just given birth to Derrik. But Francine never told him she was married...not until after she found out she was pregnant with you. And Colin, well, Colin was extremely angry. He shouted at her half the night. I could hear them all the way from here. I went over after I saw him leaving, wondering if she would be frightened after what she had endured from Adam, but she was just as angry as he was."

"He never struck her? He said he hit...hit Madame Allard."

"Colin isn't violent. He has a temper, he shouts, he breaks things," Henri shrugged, "he's an artist. He has calmed down considerably since he was younger, he has his wife to thank for that, but he never hit Francine. He...I think he did love her. But he left for England immediately after she told him about you, and for whatever reason he got married that same year. He sent money, and he even came here without Francine knowing, but you were too young to remember him. He didn't meet with you until you were nine. By then you already believed the elaborate lie about Adam Dessain. She had sent a letter...saying you showed promising musical talent. I suppose he couldn't stay out of your life any longer."

Erik was silent, remembering the first time he'd met Colin Talbot. Shouldn't he have felt some shock of recognition? Shouldn't there have been something there, or any of the hundreds of times he'd been in his presence? His mother had always enforced his music lessons, and he'd gone quite willingly most of the time. Except Colin often got distracted, and lost track of time in the woods or in music.

Not that Erik couldn't relate...

He'd lost track of time for twenty years while he composed Don Juan. Days when he didn't sleep...didn't eat...did nothing but play and rewrite. And yes, throwing things in fits of temper that would have embarrassed him if anyone had ever seen them.

"You tried to send me to him..." Erik said suddenly. "That's why..."

Henri nodded. "Susanna came with a note after church. Adam had come in the house while they were making cookies. Your mother sent her running here with a note for you to stay here until she could think of something to do. I went over there that night...he was," he ducked his head and lowered his voice, "he was...she said it wasn't forced...but I knew she hated it. She was trying to keep his focus off you. Somehow he knew, or thought he knew. He really thought you were his son. Right up until he laid eyes on you."

"Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. _Fifteen_."

Henri breathed deeply as Erik recited the exact moment when Adam had known. "I was going to shoot him that night. It would have been an absolutely cowardly act, but I was going to shoot him while he was asleep," he whispered, his nostrils flaring. "But at least my son would still be alive. Your mother...Susanna would not have seen what she did..."

"My face?" Erik asked calmly.

Henri looked at him, "No. Derrik's body."


	27. Awakening

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Henri opened his mouth to explain to Erik, who was looking at him in astonishment, but the door opened and Daniel came tearing through the house yelling at his mother.

"Daniel, I said come back here this instant," she scolded him, and Erik could see her as she swept past the doors of the library. "You know I don't allow you to be disruptive in the classroom. When I'm teaching, you must listen to me as the teacher, not as your mother."

Henri sighed and gave him a wry smile. "My daughter is reaping every seed her and Derrik combined ever sowed. And probably some of yours."

"She's the school...teacher?"

"Part time," he amended. "We alternate days most of the time. I teach math and the other technical subjects, and she does geography and history and...," he winced visibly, "...music."

"I hate school!" Daniel shouted. "You never let me do anything!"

"Is that right?" she huffed, "Well if you don't do as I say, you aren't going to be able to sit down either. Go to your room, and don't come out until I say you can."

Footsteps stormed down the hallway, and a door slammed. Immediately Elisabeth's face puckered up, and she started to cry. She was still sitting at Erik's leg, and he was reaching down for her when Susanna entered the room. His hands shot back to his sides when he saw her.

"I didn't do it," he said defensively.

"Did I say anything?" she arched her brow at him. Looking down at her daughter, she cooed, "Mama's home. Come see me, darling."

"Mam," the child wailed and started crawling towards her, then pulled herself to standing by clinging to her mother's dress.

Susanna picked her up and kissed her cheek, "Were you good for Pap-paw?"

Henri snorted, "She didn't let me have a moment's rest until Erik arrived. I'm tempted to buy his boots right off his feet, if it will keep her occupied next time."

Susanna turned to look at Erik, who...was that a hint of a smile in his eyes? Miracle of miracles, it was there, lurking in the green depths, although his mouth was in a perpetually flat line.

"My daughter hasn't been causing you trouble has she?"

"Not at all, Madame," he replied softly, wondering how he'd managed to waste an entire day. Now he was definitely not going to be able to beg for use of a bath.

The idea hadn't set well with him anyway. He didn't want to ask anyone for anything.

"Will you stay for dinner, Erik?" Susanna asked hopefully.

"Actually, I'm going to dine with the Talbot's this evening," he said glumly.

They both looked at each other, then at Erik, who was staring at his boots. He didn't look at all pleased with the idea.

"Jackson Talbot came to see me today," he said curtly. "He's promised to leave me in peace if I meet his sister."

Susanna laughed.

Erik glared at her, "What is so amusing?"

"Jackson promised to leave you in peace? And Lily? Oh, you have been duped, Erik. They won't give you a moment's rest."

"Susanna," Henri said sharply, and shook his head slightly.

But Erik had already gotten irritated. "I'll...I'm not going," he said, standing up nervously. "What do you mean they won't give me rest? He promised!" he fairly growled at her, his eyes narrowing and fists clenching.

Susanna shook her head, blue eyes widening in dismay as she realized what she had done.

"I didn't mean it. Of course they'll be fine. They're wonderful people, and they've always wanted to meet you."

"Right."

"The clothes outside," she said suddenly. "I realize you...you haven't had a..."

"A bath?" he grunted. "I'll go to the lake."

"We have warm water," she said temptingly. "And soap."

"I have my own soap," he snapped, although the idea of warm water was appealing.

"I'll iron your clothes for you," she offered, and he looked up at her in a slightly hopeful way. "I even have starch."

Grumbling and resistant the entire way, but once again he eventually gave up.

* * *

Erik retrieved the clothes he had left lying across the fence earlier, and slipped the white mask out of the pocket of his coat. He was apprehensive about changing, but at least half of his face would be in normal profile, and he wouldn't feel quite as self conscious around those people. He was very nervous not only of meeting Lily, but also Colin's wife. She probably wouldn't be too eager to meet him either.

He handed his clothes to Susanna and retreated to the small water closet her father had had installed after Susanna returned home from Paris. Neither one of them had been able to lift water for their baths, she explained, so he hired some men from town to put in proper plumbing.

Nothing felt so good as removing the wig and mask, and scrubbing himself as dutifully as his mother had always instructed. Sleeping on the ground was really not his idea of comfort, and living in a castle the last year had spoiled him to the beauty of architecture and luxury. Of course, sleeping in a coffin had not been all that comfortable either, but he had become accustomed to giving in to mad whims. The coffin had definitely been a whim.

He lay back against the tub and closed his eyes, trying to imagine his mother's face, as beautiful and happy, and not recall the last moments of her life. Sometimes it was impossible to do, and sometimes he couldn't imagine her as dead. He still missed her with an ache inside that was always consuming him. He had missed all of them, actually, but he had never realized it.

If only he had stayed...

But there was still nothing left inside him that they would find to make them see that boy. The Phantom had consumed him. Like a separate entity inside of him, it had taken over his thoughts and dreams, and turned them into something unrecognizable. He had been haunted by his own ghost.

"Erik?" Susanna knocked on the door softly. "I've finished your clothes. I'll leave them hanging here in the hall for you."

He stared in shock at the door, having never spoken to a woman while he was naked before. Not since he'd been a boy anyway. And it had been with his mother.

"Okay," he whispered, then realized she couldn't possibly have heard him. "Okay," he said a little louder, and held his breath until she moved down the hall.

He was...very suddenly aroused. By Susanna! He turned on the cold water and allowed it to fill the tub, blocking out the image of her innocent blue eyes and heart shaped face. When had her face become imprinted on his mind? He groaned softly, feeling heat in his stomach that he did not want to feel, and an ache in his loins that he definitely did not want to feel. Physical urges had always been useless. They had never been sated, and were simply another form of torture he had to live through.

Erik gripped the tub's edges as the water rapidly cooled, bracing his feet firmly against the sides until the _problem_ eventually diminished. He had no business thinking of her like that. She was a widow with two children...she claimed to have sisterly affection for him. He was a monster, and had no right to so much as touch her with his despoiling hands.

He gradually got out of the water, shivering from the cold, and wrapped a towel around his hips while he opened the door and got his clothing out. He stared at it. Not all of his clothing. His shirt was missing. He glared at himself in the mirror as he changed, then slipped the white mask on. He carefully cleaned the hairpiece with the small kit he had and adjusted it back on his head.

He was the bare chested, half nude Phantom, he thought scornfully. Wouldn't the theater have loved to have seen this?

* * *

Susanna had put Erik's clothes in the hall, but she'd caught an extra wrinkle in his shirt after she had set them down. Ironing his clothes had felt strangely comforting. Not since Julien had died had she handled a man's clothing besides her father's. Erik's clothes were very expertly made, had no visible sign of fault with the tailoring, and seemed to be the very latest of fashion, not that she knew what the current trends were. She flipped his shirt over and ironed the crease out, then spied another, and another. In exasperation, she began to wonder if she already needed spectacles. At thirty two, she certainly hoped not!

"Madame?" Erik said quietly from the hallway.

She looked up and promptly dropped the iron onto the floor. Still she continued staring at him. My goodness, he's handsome, she thought. And...oh, my...he was broad shouldered. He seemed much too thin for his frame, and his chest...

"Madame Croix, your iron is going to burn your floor," he warned her.

She finally looked down at it, "Oh!" She flushed and picked it up, using her brush to wipe the debris off the edges. "I'm sorry, I thought I had finished your shirt," she rambled, and began smoothing the shirt out once more. "I found more wrinkles."

She lifted it and inspected it dutifully, finding nothing else wrong with it. Nervously she approached him and handed it to him, unable to breath as she watched him shrug into it and disappear back down the hall.

What was this? she wondered. She thought she'd gotten past her ridiculous girl-hood obsession for Erik a long time ago. He was supposed to be like her brother...only he wasn't...and for the first time since Julien, she recognized the sharp pain of desire. Guilt immediately followed, although as a widow, she was entitled to do anything she pleased. But eight years of marriage did not dissolve in the space of a year and a half. Every time she looked at her children she was reminded of their father.

She scolded herself, _'Just because you see a half naked man for the first time in ages, doesn't mean a thing. And it doesn't mean he felt anything either. Don't be such a goose.'_

Only when he came back, and this time fully clothed and with the beautiful white half mask on, her breath caught sharply in her lungs again, and when his green eyes lingered on her face for several moments, she lowered hers in a fierce blush.

The uncomfortable moment passed when her father came in. All too soon, it was back.

"Susanna, if Erik doesn't mind, why don't you ride to the Talbot's with him tonight? That way it won't be such a strained environment."

She had a firm refusal on her tongue, until she looked at Erik, and could see quite clearly the hope in his eyes. His face was strange to take in...it was like she was meeting him for the first time, and seeing him as more than a brother...more than a friend. His face had changed so much from when he had been a boy. His hairpiece was as black as the clothing he wore, and the horse he rode. And the white mask seemed to mock her in a way that contrasted with the rest of his face.

Susanna felt herself being drawn into his unintentional dark spell, into the mystery of his eyes, and the gruff and austere facade that barely hid such deep emotion. Such anger and pain.

"Madame Croix?" Erik prompted her.

"Susanna," she whispered softly. "My name is Susanna."


	28. Provoking, Indeed

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Not that his father wasn't pleased with the results of his scheming, but he'd gotten one of those looks he used when he wasn't quite sure what to do with good news. Then he had slunk off to the parlor and begun playing piano for nearly three hours.

His mother hadn't been any more sure what to do, although she wanted to meet Erik just as much as the rest of them.

Lily had been ecstatic of course, because she'd gotten her way.

And when it came close to seven o'clock, his sister who never liked to play piano unless it was to impress someone, strode inside the parlor and began playing so earnestly he nearly laughed aloud. Jackson would have laughed at her too, if he hadn't been so bloody nervous himself.

Meeting Erik Dessain had been a thousand times worse than he'd expected. He'd never met anyone so unapproachable in his life, yet when he'd been offered the chance to meet Lily he had nearly given up his veneer of icy hostility for volatile rage.

Then he'd given in.

He leaned casually against the piano and allowed his sister to make faces at him while she played. She really wasn't bad, although she'd never bothered trying to compose. Her father had taken one look at her music and declared it sentimental feminine drivel. It was of course, but Lily had been rather furious.

"You know," he said to her as she played, "no doubt he'll be here any moment. You aren't perhaps trying to ensnare him with your music are you?"

"Shut up, Jackson," Lily said calmly, and closed her eyes to play. "Even if I am, which it is my right to do so as a woman, it is none of your concern."

"Do you really think Monsieur Opera Ghost will be impressed?"

She glared at him. "Perhaps you'd like to play," she said snidely, her eyes flashing at him.

Honestly, her brother had no clue what effort it took a woman to think of something to do to catch someone's eyes. Even if it was in fact...another brother. Besides, she reasoned, she was nervous. Her hands had to be doing something.

But when the knock sounded at the door, she opened her eyes in horror as she realized he was here, and could already hear her playing. Jackson was still smirking at her. Now she could do nothing but finish the song.

She could see him as the butler admitted him, and she breathed in relief as she saw Susanna directly behind him. But him...he looked so imposing. So much like a...ghost. Why had she chosen this piece? Why this composer? He probably didn't even like Corelli. He was watching her, and she could actually see his face, with those impenetrable green eyes her father had. Jackson's were green as well, but he was far too carefree to ever freeze anyone with his.

Promptly she closed her eyes again to finish the song, thanking God when it was over.

"How about another, Lily?" Jackson asked with a smirk.

She glared at him again, "Honestly, you're very irritating."

"That was lovely," Susanna said smiling, stepping into the room. "If only I could play so flawlessly. Half the time when I play at the school, it is met with far more laughter than silence."

Lily finally stood and embraced her friend, whispering in her ear, "My God, he's as big as Papa."

Susanna laughed, "He is quite tall, isn't he?"

"Everyone is tall too for you," Jackson winked at her. "I think you must have missed a couple of growing seasons, Susanna."

She arched her brows at him, fixing him with her schoolteacher stare, but he laughed and stole a kiss right in front of everyone.

"You're not going to change are you?" she laughed, wiping her cheek in exaggerated disgust. "When are you going to marry that girl from Kent, so the rest of us can live without the fear of you compromising us?"

"When he realizes her father isn't going to let her marry someone without an ounce of ambition," Lily said, grinning when the smile slipped from Jackson's face.

Susanna turned, seeing Erik standing in the door still looking so calm it was as if he were looking at a wall.

"Lily?" she pulled her friend to his side, seeing a flicker of shyness in his eyes for a moment. "At long last you finally meet. This is Erik."

Erik stared at the girl wordlessly, thinking she looked like a feminine version of Colin with brown eyes. Her hair was wild around her face, just as his always was, and she had an almost defiant tilt to her chin. In numb resignation he watched her lean toward him, and he stiffened like a plank board when her arms closed around him.

"You _have_ to be a better brother than the one I already have," she said, looking up at him in what looked like sincerity.

He grasped her arms and firmly set her away from him. "A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Talbot."

"Lily," she corrected automatically. "And I'm not easily dissuaded, I must warn you. I always get what I want."

He stared at her, unwillingly fascinated by this dark humored creature. "And I always get what I want, which is to be left in peace."

She turned around and ignored him. "Jackson, are you going to tell Mama and Papa they're here, or are they supposed to be clairvoyant?"

"Yes, Sister," he said mockingly, and left the room.

"So, this is where our father taught you to play music, Phantom?"

Susanna's mouth fell open, and Erik glanced at her sharply, then back to Lily.

"Perhaps."

"Will you play for us tonight? Maybe something from your opera?"

What Susanna could see of Erik's face told her he was angry. His words, however, were as calm as if he were discussing the weather.

"Your very innocence would be compromised, mademoiselle, and I have no interest in swooning females."

"Ha!" she snorted at him, "I have never swooned in my life. Clearly you have the wrong impression of me. So, you will not play it? Papa is interested in finding the score."

Erik's brow rose slightly, "He will not find it."

"Then you must play it," she insisted.

"I decline," he said softly. "What about you? Are you a composer?"

"I sing," she smiled at him. "Jackson composes, although he has never had anything become successful. He has trouble living in the shadow of our father, and of course, you."

"Fascinating."

"I'm serious," she replied. "I swear, if you come here between the hours of midnight and three in the morning you will hear such dreadful sounds coming from this piano. Not terrible music, I assure you, but utterly depressing content."

"Where do you live in England?" he asked, irritated beyond measure, and wanting desperately to change the subject.

"London, of course. We also have an estate in the country, and this house as well. We come here every summer. Have you ever been married?"

Erik blinked at her, startled by the rapid switch of topic. "No," he said shortly.

"You're what...thirty seven?"

"Thirty six," he grunted, a scowl immediately coming across his face.

"No intentions of marriage?"

"No."

"Well, Jackson is being incredibly dull witted about the girl in Kent, and I think Mama would like some grandchildren," Lily said with a sweet smile.

"It appears she will have to wait, mademoiselle," he said coldly. "I have no intentions of getting married. Ever."

"Lily," Susanna said quickly when the girl opened her mouth again. "I...I was hoping you could come to the schoolhouse one day and sing the children a song. Perhaps...perhaps something fun..."

"Sure," she waved her hand at Susanna, but swung her eyes back to Erik. "Why aren't you going to get married?"

Susanna watched Erik's chest puff up again. He was livid, and looked as if he were about to explode, and Lily was pushing him again.

"Lily," she said softly, trying to distract the girl, but she was determined.

"_Lily."_

They all turned to see Jackson and Colin standing in the door. Colin looked nervously at Erik, then back at his daughter.

"That's quite enough. Go to your mother."

"Papa..."

His mouth tightened and eyes narrowed, "As I said, girl. Now."

After she was gone, Colin shot Jackson a furious look.

"What were you thinking, leaving her alone with him?"

Erik's mouth fell open, and he shut it again very quickly.

"I would not have harmed her," he said swiftly.

Colin looked startled, "I wasn't concerned about that. You'll have to forgive my daughter...your sister...she's tenacious. She doesn't know when to stop, and she's quite fearless."

"She's nosy," he bit off, "and talks too much."

They all laughed, which seemed to startle him. But when the laughter sharply died, Colin and Erik were staring at each other in acute discomfort. Jackson inclined his head to her, and she stepped around Erik to his side. Neither of them took notice as they stepped out of the room.

Jackson leaned down to look at her, "Perhaps we shouldn't stray too far. We may need a witness."

"I hope he doesn't provoke him anymore," Susanna said worriedly. "Lily seems to have done well enough on her own."

"I think Papa might have a better idea of how to approach him this time. He was very emotional last time...I think he'll probably stick to safer subjects," Jackson said dryly. "Now, shall we go see what is keeping my dear mother? She's really anxious for tonight to work out."

"So she still thinks of Erik as her little lost boy?" Susanna laughed, "I don't think he's going to be pleased with the idea."

Jackson slid her a long look. "Is there anything that could please him?"


	29. A Chance

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Colin absorbed the sight of Erik's face with breathless wonder. He had been told that only half of his face had been damaged, but seeing him a week ago had made him wonder if Henri had been mistaken. He stared at the mask in fascination. This was the _Phantom's_ mask. Erik looked at him with the casual indifference he had first shown at the inn.

How deceptive that had been.

"I hope Lily didn't offend you," he said quietly. "She has the ability to do so, sometimes without even opening her mouth."

"She's insolent," Erik muttered. "And your son is irritating."

"He takes after his mother," Colin ventured. "They're both..._cheerfully_ irritating."

Erik didn't reply. He could already imagine a female Jackson Talbot, and the thought was no better than speaking with Lily Talbot again. He felt cold sweat break out beneath the mask, and wished suddenly he had not changed them. It would have been better to hide himself completely. Halfway out the door of Susanna and Henri's cottage, he'd nearly broken into a dead run for the bushes to vomit. The feeling was back again, and he hated feeling nervous for no reason.

He wasn't here to impress anyone. That would be pointless, even if he were. He was here so they would all stop pestering him, and allow him to build his mother's house.

Colin hesitated a moment, wondering if he should talk about music with him. It was all they had in common, although he hadn't seemed particularly interested in it as a child.

"How...how long did it take you to write the score?" he asked softly.

Erik stared at him with narrowing eyes. "A long time."

"You never wrote anything else?"

"Only one opera," Erik said quietly, looking at the piano across the room. "I cannot recall how many other pieces."

"Nothing recently?" he dared to pry, resisting the urge to move backwards a few steps.

"I have no desire to write music any longer," he said coolly. "My muse has left me, not that she was ever particularly helpful."

Not when it took twenty damned years on and off to get it right, he thought.

"Is Opera Populaire the only place you ever...visited?" Colin asked, swallowing, then being reminded of what had come of his questions last time.

"Do you mean have I lived all twenty four years in a dungeon?" Erik snorted. "No. I have traveled all across the continent. I went to Paris seventeen years ago."

"I...I meant theater wise. You never went to any other theaters?"

"I've been to the Comique, when I would tire of the Opera Populaire. When I was younger I traveled throughout Europe. I visited several, and also a few in Russia. Music is even interestingly popular in Asian cultures, although their music has its own appeal," he said with a distant look in his eyes. "Gypsy music is something to behold as well."

Colin's hands clenched at the name of the culture who had imprisoned his son. Erik's eyes flickered down at them a moment, then he turned and walked towards the window. Colin wondered how he had survived the abuse that Guinevere Allard had so delightfully shared with him. Once she had realized the true intent of his visit, she had been furious that it was over Erik, and he had not left his calling card to bed her. A more sick, twisted woman never breathed.

"Henri went to their camp," Colin said quietly. "You were already gone. By the time I arrived here for the summer, you'd been gone for a couple of months."

"You came back every year?" Erik whispered, his hands bracing on his hips as he lowered his head. "You...you're better off forgetting me now, Monsieur Talbot. You've met me, you have seen that I can function properly, so now you can lay your guilt aside. Erik Dessain died here...and I am something else. I'm not interested in becoming part of your family."

"You don't have a choice. You've been part of us forever, you were just never present."

The words lifted his heart, and he gritted his teeth as he struggled to suppress the sensation. His stomach was twisting inside again, and on the end of his bitter patience he struggled to contain the only emotion he dared to show: anger.

"I am nothing," he turned to glare at Colin. "We are nothing, do you understand? I'm doing this so your family will leave me in peace. If they're so damned determined to find me again, they'll have been warned how little tolerance I have for trespassers."

"If I stay away, would you continue to see them?" Colin asked quietly. "I understand your reluctance to accept me...but what about them?"

"They annoy me."

"Yes, I know. Is there anything that doesn't?" Colin asked mildly.

"I don't want them bothering me."

"Would you visit them, then?" he asked persistently. "I don't have to be present."

Erik continued to fix him with a clearly ill tempered gaze. Eventually Colin sighed, becoming riled himself. Was there nothing that would penetrate the solid layer of ice around his heart? Ironically that was a question Francine had posed to him once.

And it _had _finally been penetrated. When Erik had been hurt, and Francine had been killed. The feelings he had denied himself for his son had come boiling over, and he'd read Henri's letter in front of his wife, sobbing like a child. Emma had no clue about Erik, although she had always thought there was another woman. The marriage had not been a good one until he had finally confessed everything to her. But eight years of their life had been wasted as they looked at one another politely, smiled empty smiles, and discussed inane things that never told one another anything.

And if it had not been for Colin's grief over the disappearance of his son, Emma might have never understood her husband at all. Somehow in his loss, they had found one another. And almost immediately after they had reconciled, his wife had become pregnant with Jackson.

"I will consider seeing _them_," Erik finally said. "But do not expect me to be a regular guest. I will come if, and when I feel like it."

Joy filtered through him, although he lowered his eyes so Erik could not see it. A chance, he thought. There was still a chance. Controlling his trembling hands by keeping them behind his back, he nodded. "I believe dinner will be ready shortly. Is there anything I can get you?"

"Do you have anything with alcohol in it?"


	30. With Greatest Reluctance

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Lily found her mother in the kitchen, peering over the cook's shoulder as she diligently prepared the first plate.

"Mama, everyone will be in shortly. Shouldn't you be in there to sit down?"

"Yes, dear, I just wanted to make sure...," she trailed off as she noticed her daughter. "...why aren't you wearing the lavender dress? Why must you wear such somber colors, Lilian?"

"It suits me," she shrugged. "I look like a ninny in pink and purple."

"You look beautiful, even in your ever present darkness. Come," she sighed, "let's see if we can get through this without us all killing one another."

"Well," Lily leaned down and smirked, "I think I'm at the top of the list, as usual."

"Don't be yourself dear," Emma said dryly, "otherwise he might not ever come back."

"Who else could I be?" Lily asked innocently, although she had been laughing since she left the parlor. Erik was as easily provoked as her father, and it was always fun to needle him. She didn't know why everyone had to be so serious all the time. If you couldn't make fun of life, or yourself, or your family, what else did you have?

They were already standing around the table, Erik looking morose, her father guarded, and Jackson was irritatingly charming, or trying to charm Susanna.

"Erik," her father said quietly, "this is my wife, Emma."

But she was already gliding around the table, and Erik watched the slender, dark haired woman as she too put her arms out and around him. Once again he squared his shoulders and knocked his knees so tightly it was a miracle she didn't push him over.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Erik," she smiled up at him.

"Madame Talbot," he said stiffly, and he pushed her away from him slightly. "You have a gracious home."

"Well, I know you've been here before, and of course you're welcome anytime," she said, and as Colin had described, was irritatingly cheerful. She moved closer to him, and he resisted stepping back and away from her somehow. Placing her hand over his arm, she rose slightly as if to kiss his cheek and then he did step back, his heart seizing inside so painfully he thought he would choke. Emma's eyes widened at his panicked gesture, and he clenched his jaw when he recognized the pity in them.

Everyone else averted their eyes, and Emma stepped back in dismay as she thought of a million reasons for him to recoil from physical touch.

"I apologize," she whispered. "Sometimes I'm terribly forward. Won't you please sit down?"

"Madame," he said firmly, "may I escort you to your chair?"

"Of course," she said softly.

Instead of offering his arm as a normal man would, he walked beside her and pulled her chair out, immediately moving back to his own as he watched Jackson assist Susanna, and his father assist Lily. They all probably thought he was quite odd. Good. It was time someone around here realized it, instead of treating him so bloody normal.

* * *

Susanna watched Erik throughout the meal, although Jackson monopolized the conversation for the most part. Responding really wasn't necessary, because he did most of the talking, and everyone else was listening to him as well. Emma joined in the discussion with her son, and Lily ate calmly and watched everyone with interest.

Colin and Erik said nothing.

And he had not said much on the way to the village either. He'd left the house to prepare his horse, and surprisingly had saddled hers as well by the time she was ready. And seeing him riding a horse like that, so skillfully and at such ease with the animal had sent her thoughts into dangerous corners the entire ride. Embarrassed at her mind's shocking direction, she had remained silent as well.

Now that she had seen what happened if you did wrap your arms around Erik, her heart broke more for him. Had he not had one single moment of peace since he left here?

"When is school going to be over?" Lily asked her. "I'll need to be thinking of something to sing to them."

"One more week," Susanna replied. "Then Daniel will have all the time in the world to drive me mad as my child, and not my student."

"Just wait till little Elisabeth is in your classroom," Jackson chuckled. "Then we'll see how quickly Monsieur Allard retires, leaving you to your children, and the rest of the little demons running around this village."

"If he retires, I am as well," she said firmly. "I'll sew rags for a living if I have to. I couldn't tolerate it five days a week. I can barely tolerate it for two or three."

"Rand Vallee seems to think he has a position you can fill," Lily said suggestively.

"Lilian!" her father barked at her, his face turning a deep shade of red. "I don't think that is appropriate. Not only for this table, but for you in particular!"

Susanna did more than turn red, Erik saw. Her eyes fixated on her plate, and she stared at it in a growing scowl.

"I'm sorry, Susanna," Lily said meekly. "I didn't mean anything degrading. I think he's a fine man, and his interest in you is-"

"None of your business," Susanna said crisply, finally looking up at Lily. "Next topic, please?"

"Of course," Lily whispered, looking suitably shame faced. "Erik, do you have any plans after you build...build the house?"

He chewed his food slowly, wishing she had directed the conversation anywhere but on him.

"No," he finally said. "I won't be staying here, if that's what you mean."

"Why not?" she prodded him. "This seems as nice a place as any, although it isn't London."

"For that some of us are grateful," Jackson muttered, slipping Erik a grin.

Erik stared at Lily, who was still waiting for his answer. She really was stubborn.

"I have a castle in the Alps. I suppose I might return there, or I could go to Italy. I have a place there I haven't seen in twenty years. I'm not bound to anything, so I have no reason to stay in Artenay. Or in France, for that matter," he said, hoping it would silence her.

"A castle?" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. "In the Alps? Which part?"

"Glarus."

"Do you ski?" she asked, becoming more animated by the moment. Erik stared at her, resigned to again respond.

"Do I what?" he questioned, becoming increasingly uncomfortable as everyone looked at him.

"Ski? You know, put those big things on your feet, and fly down the side of a mountain?" she said, moving her hands in exaggeration.

"So that's what they were doing," he said with a frown. "I thought they had lost their minds."

"You saw them? I always wanted to go," Emma said with a sigh. "Colin thinks _England_ is too cold. He would never agree to go to Switzerland. Did they explain how the ski's work?"

"I did not ask, Madame," he said softly. "They were on the opposite side of the valley. It looked quite easy to maneuver them, although occasionally it was humorous to watch them fall."

"Oh dear," Emma whispered, looking clearly worried. "They weren't injured were they?"

Erik looked at his plate, and away from her expressive eyes. She was concerned over people she didn't know, who may or may not have fallen off the side of a mountain for being foolish enough to try and skate down it. And he was a murderer, executioner, extortionist, and kidnapper. He was clearly not meant to be here. Looking up at Susanna, then around the other innocent faces at the table, he felt lower than dirt.

"I couldn't say, Madame," he replied faintly.

What had he become?

* * *

They all came outside as Erik and Susanna left, waving cheerfully as they untied their horses from the rail and adjusted saddles.

"That went well," Erik muttered, scowling even in the darkness. It had taken considerable firmness on his part to turn down the request that he listen to his father play piano. Colin had not offered, but Erik had not been interested in anything other than escape.

"It was better than it could have been," she shrugged, turning to look for a mounting block. There was none available. Grimacing, she hitched her skirt high over her leg and strained to reach the stirrup.

"What are you doing over there?" he asked, only hearing grunts and groans from the other side of Cesar. "Madame, are you alright?"

"I'd...be...fine...," she grunted, "...if...I was_ taller_!"

He stepped around his horse, seeing her still balancing precariously on one foot while she tried to put her left foot in the stirrup. He smiled, seeing her arms were too short to even reach the pommel.

"I think Jackson may have been right about the growing season," he drawled softly. "You missed one or two."

"And I think you're a pain in the ass," she shot back. "Hold my leg, would you?"

His amusement vanished quickly. "I'll find you something to stand on."

But when he turned, there nothing that would work. Holding his breath, he knelt beside her and bent his knee. She looked down at him, but couldn't make out his face in the darkness, only the mask, which was bright and pale against the rest of his body.

"Stand on me," he whispered, lowering his head so he didn't see her face above him. He felt her hand on his shoulder as she braced herself, then her dress brushed against his face as she stood on his leg with both her feet. She barely weighed a thing, but the pressure she was putting on him was of another kind.

"Like this?" she whispered back, wanting to close her eyes at the sudden dizziness that was in her head.

"Yes. J-just steady yourself, and get on as if I were the ground," he said so quietly she barely heard him.

Susanna's hand left his shoulder and grazed against his head as she reached for the pommel, and unsteadily she raised one leg and placed it into the stirrup. Her ankle buckled slightly on his knee, digging her heel in so hard he grunted, but he refused to put his hands on her and help her. If she fell, it wouldn't be very dignified, but hopefully she wouldn't hurt herself.

Eventually she managed to get on her horse, and he stood quickly and mounted his own. It was a long time before either one of them spoke, and they were both grateful for the darkness that concealed flushed faces. After a couple of miles, Erik finally broke the silence between them.

"What happened to Derrik?" he asked softly.

He heard her inhale sharply, and the subsequent harsh exhale. He noticed her horse had thrown his head immediately after he said the words, so he suspected she had jerked the reins. Still, she didn't respond.

"Madame Croix?" he prodded, then resigned to finally using her first name, "Susanna?"

It felt strange on his tongue, and sent warmth flooding through him once again. He'd been feeling particularly warm the entire night, especially when he had looked up into her blue eyes, and seen her golden curls bouncing around her face.

"You don't want to know," she finally said, her voice losing all it's warmth and kindness. "You don't want to know, so don't ask."

"Tell me," he insisted. "I do want to know."

"No, Erik," she said sadly. "It's a burden you do not want. A memory you don't want, and one I wish I could forget. I don't want to tell you about him. There is no point in remembering his death. I would rather remember his life."

"Does burned flesh still make you scream, Madame Croix?"

He heard her inhale sharply again, and listened in horror as she began to cry.


	31. Hoping for Peace

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"Forgive me," he said softly, although he wasn't sure if she heard him or not. He hadn't meant the question to sound so harsh. He hadn't meant to ask it at all, but like so many other things he hadn't meant to say to her, it had come out. "Susanna, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to me," she whispered. "I should have done so to you. You...I don't remember the night you came in my room, Erik. I thought I was dreaming...I wasn't asleep...but it never stopped it from coming back. It wasn't your face, it was Derrik's."

"You saw him after he died?" he asked gently, then moved Cesar closer to her horse. He reached out and took her reins, stopping her horse. "Susanna?"

In the darkness, Susanna reached for his hand. It balled into a fist when she touched him, but she curled her fingers over the back of it and squeezed tightly.

"He wasn't dead. Not at first," she said quietly. Her hand squeezed him more, and he could make out her face in the moonlight. Her eyes were wide and filled with tears, sorrow in each feature, and pain in every second. "I...I left the house after my father did. I was at the woods, near the edge when I saw the fire. Adam ran out of the house, and my father shot him. I stopped and watched Papa run into the house, and he came out with...with you, but you were wrapped in a blanket. He started shouting at you, asking where Derrik was, then he ran back inside...," she trailed off and looked away from him. A tear slid down her cheek and hung on her chin for a moment, then he felt it strike the back of his hand.

"I don't remember anything," he said softly. "It...I was in a lot of pain."

"I know," she said, feeling weak as she thought of how Derrik had died. "I know you were."

"Your father went back inside? He didn't see Derrik?"

"No. The stairs were burning," she managed to say, "but I did. I saw him...in the upstairs window. He was on fire. And...and he was trying to...to put the flames out. For a moment, he looked at me. I had run up beneath the window, and he looked right at me, but his face...it wasn't him. He was...he was not Derrik. And then he jumped," Susanna whispered, and her body began to shake in the saddle.

Erik swallowed hard, the weight of that burden indeed heavy to bear. He knew what it felt like to be on fire. And he also knew what it was like to watch someone die that way.

_Mirela._

"He died when he landed, I suppose," she said when she finally managed to control her voice. "If he had lived...he would have been in so much pain...am I...am I so terribly selfish to wish that he had lived?"

"No," Erik said softly. "But speaking from personal experience, it was better...he is at peace, Susanna."

"It was a horrible death!" she snapped. "He should not have died that way!"

"No one should. He is at peace, and he will never have to hurt again," he said gently. "I'm sorry. If I hadn't gone there...,"

"If my mother had not sent you there," she interrupted sharply. "Don't blame yourself. My father blames himself, _your_ father blames himself, and I do it as well. It does none of us any good."

Her hand loosened over his, but she didn't release him. Slowly, her thumb brushed across his knuckles, which had tightened even more. His fist felt like a solid piece of ice beneath her hand, but she continued stroking his flesh, pretending it was done absently, but very aware of how uncomfortable she was making him.

"I still have nightmares about his body. It wasn't just his face that was burned. It was...it was everything...I didn't go to his funeral. Mother didn't either. It was too...too painful. Papa said I started screaming when they even suggested it, but I don't remember anything."

"You were very young," he replied. "You didn't understand. I...I didn't either. When we went into the house, he was beating her. Derrik and I looked at each other, we had never heard anything like that before. Then he started talking...he said he was going to kill all of us. Your father and...and the rest of his family. That's why Derrik went upstairs. When I went up there, he was unconscious, in the hallway. My mother was on her side, spitting out blood and teeth."

He heard her cry out, and glanced up to see her stricken face. He cursed himself for giving her that image. At last he understood why she didn't want to discuss Derrik. He now had the image of Derrik dying much the same as Mirela had. He had always thought of Derrik as being dead before the fire. He hadn't responded when he shook him.

"I'm sorry," he said roughly. "I...I think we should be getting back."

He tried to pull his hand away, and she latched on tighter.

"Susanna-"

"I miss Derrik," she sobbed, and leaned close to him. It was difficult on horse back, but she managed to put one of her hands across his back. "I have missed you both. You were so very special to me. Is there nothing left, Erik? Nothing at all?"

Feeling raw panic inside, he moved Cesar back until she was forced to release him. He could hear her still, although he could no longer look at her.

"I'm sorry, but I can't be anything to you," he said bitterly. "I'm not the same person I was, and nothing can change the things I have done."

"I don't care about what you've done," she whispered desperately, "please, just give yourself a chance. Have you had even one since you've left? Have you had even one friend...have you had anyone at all?"

"Not everyone has feared me."

"Why would they fear you?" she asked angrily. "Why?"

He didn't respond, thinking the answer should be obvious, especially to her.

She asked again, and he nudged Cesar forward, eager to finally take her home and end the night that was coming closer and closer to Hell.

"Are you going to answer me?" she demanded, her horse trotting to keep up with his stallion who didn't know the meaning of the term walk.

"I had not intended on it," he said coolly.

"Meaning you have intentions of it now?"

"No, Madame Croix. I would think the answer would come naturally. People fear me, the monster, the beast. The Phantom. Devil's Child. Would you care for me to go on?" he spat, his voice filling the quiet night with raw anger. "The Trap Door Lover, the demon. I bear the mark of Satan himself, and I earned my stripes in Hell. It is not only my disgusting flesh that people fear, Madame Croix, it is the carelessness with which I have taken men's lives. Do you want to know what I did in Persia, Madame?"

Appalled at the hate and venom in his tone, she listened to his ragged breathing in the darkness. He had taken lives, other than the Gypsy master? Had she really believed otherwise? The rumors of the Phantom were many...but he had already said the Trap Door Lover was worse than the Phantom. Whatever that meant.

"Yes."

"You want to know?" he shouted, and then laughed softly, "You _really_ want to know? Oh, Madame, if that is your wish, then allow me to explain. I was an _assassin_, Madame," he flung the words at her. "Your precious Erik...your sweet _brother_...that's what he became. An _assassin_, who killed condemned men with the quick turn of a wrist...or left them in his curious little room until they killed themselves from the madness they succumbed to. The Gypsies taught me all about mirrors Madame, and how they can drive a man insane. The little sultana wanted entertained...so by God...I entertained her! I made a _fortune_ on the blood of men. I built an empire beneath the streets of Paris, so I could escape the pain of what I had done. But there is nowhere far enough, Susanna, no place in this world where I can run to forget. You don't want to know me, little girl," he slowed his horse down long enough to look at her. "You don't want to know anything about me. Adam Dessain was a saint compared to me, and just to make sure you understand, I sugar coated everything, just for your sweet little ears."

Susanna didn't say anything the rest of the way to the cottage, and he felt his neck burning as she lagged farther and farther behind him. He could hear her crying once again, and felt ashamed of himself for telling her those things. He felt more than ashamed that he had done them.

Condemned men, who were going to die anyway. Whether they had been there for a political reason...or if they had been convicted of the worst crimes imaginable. They were all given a chance, of course. If they could have killed him first...and he had often wanted them to. They were given a weapon, and he had hesitated more than once, trying to let them take his life. It was as if some protective thing inside of him forced him to act. The lasso would sail out, and instantly it would be over.

He'd been nothing more than a gladiator for her. For the little sultana.

He knew though, some of those men had been innocent.

He had given them a quick death...the worst ones were sent inside the mirrored room for her pleasure. She quite possibly knew how often he wanted to push her inside and shut the door. And if he hadn't built it, he would have died in there as well.

He stopped at the fork in the road that led to her house, and turned Cesar sideways as he watched her approach. Her face was composed, although he could see that she was still very upset.

"Can you make it from here?" he asked softly.

"Your clothes are still inside," she reminded him.

"I don't need them. Can you make it from here?"

"Of course," she replied, and wordlessly moved past him on her horse. He watched as she disappeared into the darkness, calling himself every kind of fool and name imaginable for opening her eyes like he had.

At least now he could finally have some peace.


	32. Son of my Heart

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Henri looked up as Susanna came through the door, immediately noticing her red eyes and swollen lips.

"What's wrong?" he asked suspiciously. "Where's Erik?"

"He went home," she said glumly, intending on going straight to bed.

He stepped into her path, "Why have you been crying?"

He looked her over, but she appeared no worse for wear. Not a hair out of place, or anything wrong with her dress.

"We were talking," she whispered. "I asked about his past...and I got more answers than I wanted."

"From the Gypsy camp?"

She shook her head, "No. From Persia. He...he was an assassin," she whispered. "An executioner."

Henri narrowed his eyes at her, "He didn't mention that to me. He told me he built palaces for the shah, and for the Sultan."

"He didn't go into detail...said he sugar coated it for my _sweet little ears_," she said, looking utterly miserable. "Papa...how could he kill so many men? He killed prisoners, and earned money from it."

Henri sighed, and pushed his daughter into a chair. "Susanna...if they were prisoners, they were bound to die. They possibly committed horrible crimes. I hate that Erik was the one who did it, but you must remember that someone has to have that job. Look at the Sanson family, here in France. Seven generations of Sanson men held that position. Not exactly the kind of thing to be proud of, for most of us. Did Erik sound proud of what he had done?"

"No," she whispered. "He said he moved to Paris to escape from the pain."

"He isn't evil because of that, Susanna. He's...he's still in a lot of pain. If you want to help him, don't let him push you away. Because that's what he's doing...and it looks as though he has succeeded," Henri said gently. "If you feel he is a danger, though, don't continue to pry. He has changed a great deal. Being beaten and abused, having your faith and trust so casually destroyed. Being locked in a cage, and forced to display something you'd rather not show anyone. I know he's hurting. I don't know what he did in Paris exactly, no one knows but him and that soprano, but she's alive...she's married...still in the papers occasionally."

Susanna didn't say anything. She had forgotten about the theater, about the soprano. Julien had been dying during that time, and she had not thought much about it. Hadn't the girl come up missing? She couldn't imagine him hurting anyone...but then he had done some things that most people would never consider doing.

"What do you think of me inviting him here to stay?" Henri asked softly.

Susanna looked at him, startled. "I beg your pardon?"

"Would it bother you? If I asked him to stay? He'll likely say no, but it wouldn't hurt to ask. He must be terribly uncomfortable living outside."

"Especially if he has a castle," she muttered, then gave her father a hard look. "If the village finds out, they could fire us both."

"Do you care?" he smiled at her. "Besides, what would we be doing wrong? Offering hospitality to a man who is trying to rebuild his life? They don't know anything about him. I do know that word has gotten out about Colin being his father. If anything, that should make them see him as a man...not a shadow."

"He's not going to want to stay," she warned him. "You're not going to get anywhere with him. He has a head made of solid rock, and I'm not certain there isn't rocks inside as well."

"Then I'll have to rattle them loose, won't I?" he mused. "Now, you rouse Daniel and move him into my bed, and I'll go fetch Erik. I think it would be better if you were already asleep...or at least pretending to be. A comfortable, undisturbed sleep should be all that tempts him into coming home with me."

"Yes, and the promise of food," she reminded him. "You may tell him I have intentions of fattening him up."

* * *

Erik lay back on the grass in the yard, hoping Cesar could see well enough in the dark that he wouldn't trample him as he slept. The frame of the house should be finished in a couple of days, then they could start on the rest. Finding the right colors still eluded him, although he hoped he could come closer to guessing with each board he put in place.

The night hadn't gone as badly as he had expected, with the exception of his snapping at Susanna. She didn't deserve that, although he really did hope she wouldn't continue to pry into his past. Her company was...was soothing, when she was being polite and not pushing at him. And he was intrigued by her beauty, although there was nothing in the world that would coax him to act on it. Her shape, her smell, the way her eyes danced with laughter. He had forgotten how very blue her eyes were, how curly and golden her hair was.

Erik smiled as he pictured her trying to get on her horse. She had always had trouble getting on, and usually Derrik would toss her on her pony, or he would lift her up himself. Derrik had not been nearly as petite as his sister, although he wouldn't have been as tall as he was. But Susanna...her head didn't even come up to the top of his chin. It was strange to see how small she was, yet she had given birth to two children.

He wondered if her marriage had been happy. She certainly seemed well adjusted, although he could see sadness in her eyes sometimes. Whether it was the memory of her brother, or of her husband, he wasn't certain.

Hearing footsteps, he sat up, his eyes searching the darkness until he saw Henri's familiar form emerge.

"Monsieur Allard," he said quietly. "I hope your daughter isn't still upset. I hadn't intended on telling her some of those things."

"About your position in Persia?" he asked softly, then sank down beside him. "It was a job, was it not?"

"One of many," Erik said grudgingly. "It was not the normal sort of execution," he muttered. "They were given a weapon, and allowed the chance to strike first. Usually only one chance, and then I would retaliate. I...I never killed an unarmed man...not in Persia anyway."

"You thought Adam Dessain was your father."

It was not a question.

"I did."

"You thought you were like him, didn't you? You had heard all these wonderful things about him...not from your mother, exactly...but from men in town, who told you how brave of a soldier he was. How decorated he was...you'd be surprised to know most of them really hated him. Rene Vallee? He hated Adam Dessain with passion. I don't know the reason, but I know if your mother had ever wanted her husband dead, she would only have had to ask," Henri said softly. "But you thought he was your father, and you trusted him when he came here, you believed that all the dreams and hopes you had about him would come true...and he destroyed your life. He ruined all of our lives...although Susanna and I have moved on...whereas you ran away and faced greater cruelty than I can possibly imagine. So do I blame you for anything you've done? No, Erik. I don't blame you at all. I blame him."

"He didn't commit those things," Erik said gruffly. "I did. When...when I went to Persia, I knew there would be no turning back. The little sultana wouldn't have allowed me to leave. I had a guard on me at all times. I could have killed him...but the Daroga...he was a good man. I didn't want to hurt him, and at the time, he would not have allowed me to leave. So I stayed, and I did what she told me to do, otherwise I would have been killed, just like they were. For refusing to do her bidding. And I made things," he said softly. "Horrible rooms...illusions...they made men go crazy. They made them commit suicide. The combat with me was much better than those rooms."

His stomach clenched tightly, but he controlled his voice, his grief, much better than he had with Susanna.

"It was a long time ago, Erik. I've heard Persia is a strange place. Filled with strange ideas...strange beliefs. Executions are still common here. So is torture. You didn't enjoy those things, did you?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. Susanna isn't upset with you," he said gently.

Erik turned his head towards him, searching the older man's face. "She isn't?"

"No. She's got to let go of the dream, Erik, and realize you're a grown man. You have no idea how much she needs you. Not as a man," he said hastily when Erik began to scowl. "You were her friend before. She has never gotten over what happened here. She's buried it inside, but she can't forget what she saw. She still has nightmares, although they haven't been as frequent since she moved back home."

"Why did she come back? Did...did she live there with you while she was married?" he asked softly.

"No. They had their own house, in town. He was a doctor, you know. He had to be available for emergencies. But after Julien died she moved out of the house, and asked if she could come back home," he laughed softly. "If I'd only remembered how much trouble children were."

"Indeed."

"I'd like you to come stay with us," Henri said gruffly. "Gather your things, and come sleep in a comfortable bed."

"I don't think so," he frowned, looking down at his hands. "I'm perfectly fine right here."

"Sure," Henri said dryly. "Come, now. Susanna is already asleep, Daniel has been moved to my bed, and tomorrow morning you can leave before anyone else is up. Although she has promised to cook for you. She says you need to...," he patted his own stomach, "...fatten up."

"Like a hog?" Erik asked dryly. "Thanks, but I'll pass."

"You can use my old drafting table, if you like," he offered. "I still have my old architecture books, although you'll probably think they're terribly out of date. And you can't possibly stay out here the entire summer. What will you do when it rains?"

"I've adjusted to it so far."

"Must you be so stubborn? We won't pressure you. You can tell us as much, or as little as you like. We'd like to know everything, of course, but we aren't going to look down on you for any of it. Please? I promise, my daughter will behave, and we will keep the children out of your way. You'll be working here most of the time anyway."

Erik sighed, the idea of a bed and a bath...and food...terribly tempting. Nights spent at the Allard house used to have been special treats that he thought his mother used to get him out from under her skirts for awhile. Telling Susanna stories...staying up late with Derrik and whispering in the dark for hours, until they would fall asleep. The mornings were wonderful too, although Madame Allard had always given him looks that made him want to do something mischievous, like hide her shoes, or put some sort of insect in her hair.

Maybe that was why she hadn't liked him.

"I will give it a try," he said softly. "But don't expect me to stay every night. I wouldn't want to impose on you."

Henri smiled triumphantly in the darkness, "Of course," he said congenially, although if he had his way, Erik would be staying more than a few nights. And he would cease the nonsense about leaving when the summer was over.

He may have been Colin's by blood...but he had belonged to Henri by heart.


	33. All Interested Parties

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik woke the next morning, staring up at the ceiling in confusion for several moments. He was in Derrik's old room, he realized instantly, although he had known it when he lay down last night. The feeling of deja vu made him close his eyes, as he immediately felt as if Derrik would rise and say something to him. He waited several moments, waiting for his friend to say something, and feeling sudden tears reach his eyes when he was met with silence.

The smell of food was what forced him to get dressed, otherwise he would have lain there half the day remembering the forgotten parts of his innocence, and the friend he had lost.

Susanna was standing in the kitchen, much the way Madame Allard had done long ago, and Henri sat at the table with Elisabeth, staring at him with wide eyes and a grin.

"Eat!" she exclaimed, then promptly shoved her fingers into a bowl of eggs. "Eeew!"

Well, at least they hadn't lied to him about her vocabulary. Daniel was staring at him with wide eyes as well, his gaze fixed on the mask, then the other side of his face. He hadn't seen him with it last night, so he imagined it had to be a shock.

"What is that?" he asked suddenly.

Susanna spun around, looking at Daniel, then at Erik. She could have kicked herself for not taking him aside and talking to him. Erik looked distinctly uncomfortable, his eyes lowered to the table as he stared at his hands, which were nervously tapping the table.

"Daniel, eat your breakfast," she said sharply.

The boy grumbled, ate a little bit, then darted another glance at him.

"It's a mask," Erik said quietly. Anticipating the next question, and not wanting to hear it, he volunteered, "I had an accident a long time ago. This is more aesthetically pleasing."

Daniel furrowed his brow, "My Papa had a stethoscope. It didn't look anything like that."

He felt his mouth turn, of its own accord, into a smile. "Aesthetically pleasing means beautiful. It doesn't mean a medical tool."

"My Papa was a doctor," he said proudly. "That's what I want to do."

"A noble profession."

"What do you do?"

Erik's lips quirked again. "I'm...retired. I haven't done much of anything in several years. I've been a lot of things."

Daniel stared at him suspiciously, "Like what?"

Susanna was listening with her back turned, hoping Erik could think of something suitable to say...and hoping he wasn't angry. Peeking, she saw that he was smiling slightly, his hands no longer tapping on the table in impatience.

"I was a musician, most recently. Before that I dabbled in architecture...and," he leaned across the table and moved his hand slightly, "...I learned to do a few magic tricks while living with a band of Gypsies."

He opened his palm, and nestled there was the deepest, reddest rose she had ever seen. Daniel's mouth fell open, and Erik dropped the flower on the table between them. Susanna stared at it in wonder, and reached for it. She was shocked to find that it was a real flower. Why she had expected it to be fake, she wasn't sure. It looked like one of Francine's, although where he had been hiding it she had no idea. It was still perfectly formed.

When she looked at Erik, she was startled by the smile on his face. It made him look impossibly young, and very devastatingly handsome. Flushing slightly, she turned back to the counter, but lifted the rose and smelled the sweet frangrance for a moment.

Erik's eyes followed every move she made, and his heart began to beat a little faster in his chest. She really was lovely when she blushed. He longed to place the rose just above her ear, and see what contrast the beauty made with her blue eyes and golden hair.

"Gypsies!" Daniel shrieked. "I know about the Gypsies! They're wicked heathens! That's what the minister said!"

"Alright young man," Susanna said, "go get dressed for school."

"I'm not finished," he protested, putting more food in his mouth.

"You are now," Henri said sternly. "Go get dressed. I won't be late this morning because of you dawdling around all day."

He sighed heavily and stomped down the hallway.

Susanna finished Erik's breakfast and set it down in front of him, resting her hand across his shoulder briefly as she did so. He glanced up at her, startled at the contact, but she moved her hand before he had a chance to say or do anything about it. Hiding a smile with her teacup, she sat down across from him and began to eat.

Her father finally deposited Elisabeth in her lap and left with Daniel, and he watched in amusement as she juggled the baby, and her fork, artfully out maneuvering her daughter's attempts to take her fork.

"Elisabeth," she cooed, then kissed her nose. "Mama's staying home to-day! Are you going to be sweet, or grumpy like you are for Pap-paw?"

"Pap-paw!"

"She said it!" Susanna gave Erik a bright smile. "Can you say it again? Pap-paw!"

"Eeew! Pap-paw!"

"Good," she kissed her nose again. "Good girl."

She looked up to see Erik staring gravely at them both.

"Have you ever been around children?" she asked softly, seeing how uncomfortable he was.

"No. Not really. Not...babies...," he said, glancing at Elisabeth. "I...I had a student once. I was a voice trainer. She was a couple years older than your son when we began."

"She? Was this...was this in the theater?" she questioned, noting that he was looking again a little uncomfortable.

"Yes. The mysterious disappearance of the soprano," he scowled slightly.

"She's the one...?"

"Yes."

Susanna looked him in the eyes, and decided if she wanted him to come back tonight, she wouldn't press him farther. He already looked ready to bolt. She lifted Elisabeth in her arms and carried her into the library and set her on the floor. She was always content to find something interesting in there, and it had been carefully inspected of all things dangerous.

"What do you do for lunch?" she asked suddenly. "Do you even eat lunch?"

"Rarely. The men bring their own, I usually work through it."

"If you come back later, I'll have something for you," she offered.

He looked down at his plate, and realized he'd eaten everything on it. He doubted he would need anything for the rest of the day. When he glanced up at her, she was smiling at him softly, and he felt a sharp pain in his chest. She was bewitching him, and was not even trying. He'd never even considered her as anything other than a friend...Derrik's sister...his own sister. All through the years she had simply been Susanna, and he had never once thought of her as particularly beautiful, or alluring. Yet she was. And he was coming to feel things for her that he remembered feeling for her long ago.

Fondness, affection.

He had missed her too. Especially during those years with the Gypsies. Before Mirela...before he stopped trying to feel things. Before he'd given up on himself, and on ever returning to his life.

"You don't have to do that for me," he finally said, looking away from her and her bottomlessly blue eyes.

"I want to."

* * *

When he stepped out of the woods, the first thing he noticed was Jackson and Rand Vallee standing in the yard talking to one another. The rest of the men were working, and he suppressed a groan for not getting over here before everyone else. Rand looked at him suspiciously when he walked past and set his coat across the fence. He suppressed another groan when he realized he was still wearing the white mask.

"Erik, did you stay the night at Susanna's?" Jackson asked cheerfully.

"I stayed with Monsieur Allard," he said sharply. "As I have done countless times in the past. What are you doing here?"

He glared at both men as he said it, although neither one looked surprised.

"Lily wanted me to invite you over sometime to play music with her," Jackson said with a smile. "And Papa promised to stay out of your way."

Erik looked over to Rand, wondering if he already knew about his relationship to the Talbot's.

"Everyone knows," Jackson winked at him. "It had something to do with you nearly taking my head off the other day. And your fight with Papa at the inn was what started it all."

"Wonderful," he muttered. "I've been tied very neatly to a bunch of Brits."

"Oh, it isn't so bad," Jackson grinned wider. "We could have brought Grandmother Talbot. Then you would have really been in for it."

"There's more of you?" he asked weakly. "I...I don't think I want to know."

"So are you planning on staying, Erik?" Rand asked suddenly. "It must be a relief to know about...to know you aren't related to Dessain."

He shifted as Erik's eyes moved over to him. The boy might not have been remarkable, but the man was unnerving.

"Not indefinitely, no," he said after awhile. "I plan on building this...then I don't know where I'll go."

"You aren't planning on living here?" he asked, looking at the work that was already done. "This is a lot of work for you not to live here."

Erik looked over at the skeleton that was taking shape. "It isn't about the work," he said softly. "It's something I should have done a long time ago."

Jackson felt a strong emotion seize him at the unspoken words Erik didn't need to say. It was about rebuilding what he could of the past. Fixing what was repairable. Seeing part of his past as unblemished and being able to let it go as something untainted by Adam Dessain.

"I'd like to help you," Jackson said, startling himself with the words, and Erik as well.

"Why?"

He shrugged carelessly, "I have nothing better to do, although you may have to show me...I've never done this sort of thing before."

Erik stared at him a moment, deciding that it would probably take no longer than a day in the heat to send the boy back to the village.

"Boef," he called over his shoulder.

"Sir?"

"Take Jackson and show him how to put nails in boards, at the proper position. And teach him the difference between his thumb and the nail."

Jackson didn't appear offended at the sarcasm rampant in almost every word of the sentences. He slapped Erik on the back as he walked past, clearly not caring whether or not Erik liked to be touched, and not noticing the lack of irritation on Erik's face as he done it.

"You seem to be readjusting to life here," Rand said slowly, "are you sure you have no intention of staying?"

"I'm never certain of anything, Monseiur Vallee. Is there perhaps another question you'd rather ask?" he said sharply.

"Susanna is a good woman," Rand said softly. "My best attempts at becoming anything other than an acquaintance have been unsuccessful, but I am considering a more direct approach."

"Are you warning me off her?" he asked with a bitter smile. "I assure you, I'm not interested in her, or any other woman. I haven't managed to attract one yet, I think I can manage to miss catching her eye as well."

"I didn't mean that," he said impatiently. "She...she's very fond of you. If you're intending on anything, I would like to know so I don't make a fool of myself."

"You wouldn't be making a fool of yourself if I was your only competition. You're asking the wrong person anyway," Erik grunted. "I'm telling you my interest, or lack of interest, is pointless. She thinks of me as a brother...a friend, God knows why, and nothing more. If you're concerned about her in that manner, you should be discussing it with her, or Henri. Not me. I'm just passing through."

"That's all I wanted to know," he said with a sudden, and quite irritating grin. "I think I'll stop and visit her on my way home. Good day to you, Erik."


	34. Thoughts of You

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna was attempting to wrestle some sort of insect from Elisabeth's hands when someone began knocking. Thinking it might be Erik, she called out for him to enter.

The door opened briefly, allowing the sunshine to catch her daughter's increasingly furious face. The spider, as it turned out, was thankfully not alive when she finally got it away from her.

"You do not eat bugs!" she scolded her gently. "No bugs! Bugs, eeew!"

Soft male laughter reached her ears, followed by, "Remind me not to ever eat anything she prepares when she's old enough to cook."

"Rand...Monsieur Vallee!" Susanna corrected quickly, turning around to look at him.

"Good morning Susanna," he said warmly, then looked down at Elisabeth, "and good morning to you too."

Elisabeth looked at him in disinterest and began searching the floor, hopefully not for another spider.

"Is there something I can do for you?" she asked nervously, and knowing immediately that he'd finally found the courage to ask for what he wanted. There was a determined look in his eyes, and he was looking at her the way Julien used to, although when he had, it had made her heart flutter, and her hand tremble.

As of now, she was doing neither.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go for a walk sometime in the evening. Perhaps tonight," he asked softly, moving to stand in front of her. He held his hand up to silence her when she opened her mouth, "I already knew what you were going to say, but I had to ask nicely first, didn't I? Your answer is no? Alright...then I shall beg you, Susanna. If that is what it takes, I shall beg you for one walk. One conversation with me, alone. I know that Julien has only been gone a year," he said gently, pausing when she bit her lip and looked away, "I know you miss him terribly. I'm not asking to court you...to romance you. I would take as much time as you needed. There are a lot of men in this world...in this village that consider you to be the most beautiful woman...myself included. I would like the pleasure of your company, nothing more. Will you take a walk with me, Susanna?"

Despite all the denials...all the times she had refused him in the past, he was persistent. No man had ever been so determined with her. Not even Julien. She had given her entire heart to him, and he had never asked. Searching his eyes, she began to refuse once more, and instead found herself wanting to say yes. Yes, because he had been kind to her...protective, even if it had been unnecessary, and above all...he seemed genuinely taken with her.

What possible woman in her right mind would refuse?

"One walk," she whispered, looking away from him. "I will take a walk with you this evening, after supper. But then...and I mean this very firmly...then I will tell you that I am not interested in pursuing anything other than friendship. I am not ready for anything else...and I'm sorry, but I don't feel for you what I felt for my husband. I will only marry a man I find passion and love with...but I don't feel those things for you."

Feeling hurt and disappointment slash through him, he merely nodded.

"Then if one walk is all I shall have, I will have to make it memorable, won't I? Perhaps all I shall ever have from you is one walk...and one kiss."

"A-a kiss?" she stammered, looking at him dumbly. Thinking his intentions were sooner, rather than later, she took a step away from him. "No, I shall not give you one."

"Then I will steal it," he grinned at her devilishly. "I will see you after supper, Susanna."

Mouth agape, she watched as he left and shut the door behind him. What had possessed her to agree to encouraging him? She began fuming, thinking of his casual confidence. _Stealing a kiss!_ That was for juveniles, for heaven's sakes. He was close to forty! Not that she was a young maiden, but stealing a kiss!

"He thinks he has me where he wants me, doesn't he Lisbeth?"

Her daughter looked up at her for a moment, then resumed playing.

"He isn't stealing anything," she said firmly. "Not if I can help it."

So why was the idea slightly appealing? She hadn't been kissed in what felt like forever. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine kissing Rand Vallee, the way she had done with her husband. He wasn't an unattractive man, with light brown hair and dark brown eyes. He was always smiling...a hard worker. If anything, perhaps it was that their personalities were too close. He was like her, lighthearted and carefree. But Julien had been the complete opposite.

The first time she had met him, he'd called nervously and spoken to her father for most of the evening. He hadn't so much as looked at her, and the next two times he had come back it had been the same. The third time, she had become enamored with the way he talked...how his eyes showed whether or not he was amused, or merely bored. And he had been amused at her, although he had not even tried to get her alone, or impress her at all. She'd finally asked if he wanted to come to see her..._specifically_...and he had said yes.

But she couldn't imagine kissing Rand like that. He wasn't any more appealing than the other men her mother had sent to meet her.

Eyes still closed, she pictured a face before her, and kissed him fully, feeling desire shear through her once more. The face was Erik's, and she imagined his green eyes coming alive with want and need...imagined his lips moving over hers and him breathing softly against her neck. The thought of his tongue touching hers...of his hands around her, and hers around him. Breathless and dazed, she opened her eyes to find Elisabeth staring at her.

"Now that would be a kiss," she said, finding her voice had grown husky, and her breasts had begun aching. Merely thinking about kissing him had done this to her. "Oh, Elisabeth," she groaned, "I should not be thinking these things, should I? Mama's not a good girl. I should definitely not be thinking of kissing Erik."

"Erk!" Elisabeth said, then laughed, pleased with herself. "Erk!"

Flushing guilty, though for no reason, she left her daughter on the floor. She had better learn to watch her tongue around that girl. The last thing she needed, when trying to keep sinful and wicked thoughts to herself, was a parrot.

But, oh, the idea of that kiss.

* * *

As he suspected, Jackson was complaining well before noon that day. And as the young men around began either riding home for lunch, or taking the small meal they had with them, Erik continued working. 

"Aren't you going to eat?" Jackson asked, wiping his face of the dirt and sweat that had accumulated.

"Susanna prepared lunch for me...but I've decided not to go," he muttered darkly. "You may do as you please."

"I haven't brought anything," he reminded him, "and it's too far back to the village."

"Then you can leave for the day."

"Why aren't you going to lunch?" Jackson prodded Erik, who sighed dramatically, as if it merely annoyed him if he spoke.

"I'm not in the mood," he said testily. "Why don't you take my place? Then she won't have prepared it for nothing, and you can make my excuses for me."

Jackson shrugged, trying to determine what had set him off this time, although he thought he knew.. Apparently it took very little. He was much like their father in that regard. "I suppose you won't tell me what's bothering you?"

"Who said anything was bothering me?" he said evenly, wishing his brother would just go away. He'd done well enough as far as learning went, although he'd definitely been absent during the mathematics session of his schooling.

"Oh, I don't know," Jackson said sarcastically, "you haven't been your usual cheerful self. I thought it might have something to do with a certain short blond, but since you gave Vallee the open window he's been dying for, I guess you aren't interested in Susanna."

He watched Erik's hands ball into fists, and his eyes turn murderously dark. As he'd suspected, he'd hit the right button.

"I'm not interested in her," he said in a slow and even voice. "She may do as she pleases."

"You know," Jackson mused, "if she wasn't a few years older than me, I think I would be interested."

"You have half an hour, Jackson. If you aren't back by the time the rest of the crew returns, you're fired."

* * *

Susanna herself answered the door this time. If it was Randolf again, she was making sure he didn't step through her door. 

Jackson smiled at her cheerfully, "I hope you don't mind the change in your lunch plans. Erik sent me instead of coming himself. He says to tell you he is sorry, but he can't make it."

"Oh," she said, feeling disappointed and annoyed all at once. She looked at the younger man, seeing how dusty and disheveled he was. She had never seen Jackson filthy. "Have you two been fighting? You look as if you've rolled through the mud with him."

"I've been working," he said with a wry grin, "or rather...I have been a hindrance to the men who were working, as I painfully remembered why I chose a field that didn't particularly involve using my brain."

She stepped aside and allowed him in, fixing a plate for him as he washed up. When she sat down across from him, he was scrutinizing her with such intensity she finally snapped, "What is it?"

His eyes widened, "You're both moody today. Did something happen last night?"

She stared at him stonily, wondering what on earth he was talking about.

"Erik's been irritable-"

"He's been that way since he got here," she pointed out. "And no, nothing happened last night...if I'm guessing at your _true_ meaning. We had a discussion about the past, and we were both upset by the time the conversation was over. Nothing was settled, and if that's the reason he isn't here today, then so be it. He seemed fine this morning, but...like you said. He is irritable."

"Fine, fine," he muttered. "I'm merely a new addition to the mysterious Erik's life. I don't have the ability to observe things that are obvious...such as the way his eyes filled with anger when Rand Vallee decided to come over and speak with you today."

Her eyes widened. "Why should he be angry? He doesn't want anything to do with any of us. You're poking at a hornets nest, Jackson. I have no desire to be attached to any man. Not Rand Vallee, and not Erik either. Julien's memory has been enough to sustain me, and my children are my priority."

_'Liar'_, a voice taunted her. '_Julien's memory cannot sustain you forever, and you've already imagined what it would be like to kiss Erik.'_

She stopped her troubling thoughts. Those feelings she'd had for him earlier...and the ones she'd had as a girl, and as a teenager _must_ remain repressed. Loving him was easy...but she had no doubts about what would happen if he was smothered in her affection.

He would panic.

In her mind a million times, before she had married Julien, she had dreamed of finding him. Rescuing him. When her mother had told her about the way he'd been treated she had died a little inside, but it had only made her think about him more. And with the innocence, and naivety of a young girl, she had believed that somehow she could heal him. Inside and out. But he'd never been this angry and bitter in her fantasies. And after awhile, it was hard picturing him at all, because he'd been eleven when he disappeared.

Julien had known how very deeply she was still attached to him. Amazingly he had not been jealous, but had understood her love for him extended far deeper than the one that had bound them by marriage. She had loved Erik in an entirely different way...although she had certainly had her share of romantic thoughts about him.

Not especially sexual...but innocent and sweet thoughts about the boy she had known and loved.

And now...innocent and sweet thoughts had faded, and all that was left were images of his bare chest, his broad shoulders. Knowing how wonderful the weight of his body would feel on hers. How his lips and hands would feel on her skin.

Dangerous thoughts to have, when you were widowed with two children. Dangerous, when the man you were thinking about was as much a mystery as an unread book. She could stare at the cover all day, and never know what was beneath.

So far, he'd tried very hard to prove what a monster he was. Or what he thought he was. Her father had told her the truth about the executions. He'd been a warrior...a contestant, in a death battle. Like Spartacus, only it was not a fight against slaves, it had been a entertainment for a woman that no doubt was a cruel and twisted human being. Erik had been under guard during his time there...and if he hadn't done what they wanted, they would have killed him.

Jackson finished his plate, cursing softly when he looked down at his pocket watch.

"He said if I'm late he'll fire me," he grunted, taking another drink of tea before he stood up.

"Here," she said softly, gathering a small plate and covering it with a cloth. "Take this to Erik. Tell him I'll...I'll see him this evening."

Jackson regarded her with those annoyingly knowing green eyes. "You know," he mused, "for someone who claims not to want a man in her life, you most certainly blush very prettily each time he is mentioned."

With a wink, and a laugh as he ducked from the dish towel that sailed towards his head, he left her fuming in her kitchen, wondering how in the hell she had managed to give so much away.

She wasn't even sure herself what she thought of Erik. How could anyone else possibly know that he made her heart race, and her mind become blessedly numb when he was near? He was Erik, for goodness sakes!

_'Ah, yes,' _that aggravating voice was back, whispering. _'He is Erik, and you have always thought about him, in just that way. Mask, or no mask...he has always been on your mind.'_

* * *

Authoress grimaces from the lack of grace in this chapter. Brain is tired...has to work so hard...

Promises readers she will try to do better next time... I have to work the next 2 days, so I won't be updating as often. Sorry!


	35. Two Women he Loved

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik noticed that Susanna was unusually quiet from the time he arrived, until well into supper. He wondered if she was angry with him for not coming to lunch. In his experience with women, they tended to get offended over the slightest things. During the week he had spent with Christine alone, she had become angry with him over inane things, like not eating. At some point he had realized that it hurt her feelings if he did not eat something she had prepared for him, or drink every last sip of tea if she brought it to him.

She'd been an odd combination of woman and child, and he'd tried very hard to please her. He soon discovered that there really was no way to please a woman.

At least, none that he could find.

But Susanna wasn't throwing a tantrum like the ones Christine had indulged in. She wasn't snapping at him, or even ignoring him. She looked like she was in a dazed trance as she sat across from him eating.

The cottage did not have the air of formality that he'd experienced at the Talbot's. And being inside here had not brought the panic he had first expected. It had been the second best thing to going home. To the one he was currently building. Being inside Derrik's room, although some things had been changed, allowed him to feel a measure of peace that he hadn't had in ages. The unexpected emotions that were simmering inside him weren't as easily contained where Derrik was concerned.

He still felt a great deal of guilt that he had been the one to live.

What if Monsieur Allard had found his son first?

When he'd gone to his mother's grave, he had deliberately ignored the small angel that he thought might be where his friend was. How could he look down on the friend of his youth...the innocent boy that had been like a brother to him? How could he say goodbye?

It was harder than either of them would ever know to sit at the table with them. He wanted it, and yet he didn't. As painful as it was, though, he was drawn to them...to his past. A link he'd never thought could be forged again, once the weakened chain had snapped. His life had been one huge, tangled, confusing heap, and he had no idea if he would ever be able to let go of the bitterness and anger that had sustained him for so long.

Thinking of Jackson, and his father...he felt more confused than ever. Remembering Monsieur Talbot and acknowledging him as his father was difficult...to say the least. Adam Dessain still had a strangle hold over his life, even in death. The ultimate trust had been destroyed by who he thought was a man he loved and respected, then over the years he'd grown furious...and with no one in particular to take his rage on...he'd unleashed it into the world.

Now he had to accept the truth, that the abuse he'd endured all his life, the horrible day that had sent everything spiraling out of control...it had all been for nothing. If he'd gone to Monsieur Talbot...if he hadn't broken into a run for his home...if Guinevere Allard had not said what she had. His entire life would have been different. It was a struggle not to give in to the self pity and depression. His life was filled with a million 'what ifs' and it had never done any good.

"Papa," she said softly, not looking at either of the men who sat in front of her. "I'm going for a walk this evening," she paused and took a deep breath, her eyes closing softly for a moment. "Rand Vallee is coming by this evening. Will you watch the children for me?"

Henri looked up, startled, and stared at her. "Susanna? A-a walk?"

"Yes," she whispered, finally looking up at him. She did not look at Erik at all, although she could tell he was listening intently, as was Daniel.

"Of course," he said slowly. "You'll be back...?"

"I'll be back shortly," she blushed. "Very shortly."

"Can I come, Mama?" Daniel asked hopefully. "I want to go to the lake."

"Tomorrow, sweetheart," she said with a strained smile. "I'll even let you go swimming. Won't that be nice?"

Appeased, he sat back and happily began chewing, unaware that inside his mother was becoming quite nervous, and the man beside him becoming quite hostile and irritated. Henri said nothing, watching the way Erik's jaw clenched, and his hand tightened around his fork. He said nothing, and watched Susanna slide a glance at the man who he realized suddenly was _not_ her brother, and could very definately be something else. Why had he still thought of them as children? His children?

And he was not entirely certain Erik was a suitable candidate to be thinking possessively of his daughter. In fact, he was almost positive.

By the time Rand Vallee had come to the door, and escorted Susanna outside, he'd grown colder and his eyes more hardened. It even appeared that his hand was shaking, although with it squeezed into such a tight fist, it was almost impossible to tell.

He put Daniel and Elisabeth down for the night, and joined Erik in the library. He was staring vacantly at the floor, his face unreadable in the nearly darkened room.

"Erik," Henri said hesitantly. "I'd like to talk to you about...about my daughter."

Erik's eyes widened as he looked up at the older man. "About what?" he asked nervously.

"I...I never considered the closeness you two once had as anything other than friends...or really more as sibling affection. But tonight, I couldn't help but notice you-"

Erik held his hand up, leaning forward to look at Henri. "There is nothing else," he said simply. "I am not going to pursue your daughter. Rest easy."

"You...you're a man of the world, Erik," he said uneasily. "My daughter has...has lived a relatively sheltered life, with the exception of her mother's disgrace. She is innocent and trusting...far too trusting. I don't want to see her get hurt."

Erik swallowed hard, knowing exactly what Henri meant. What he himself had thought, and the very reason he would stay away from her. But it didn't mean he wouldn't think of it...how could any man not? And he wasn't an entirely bad man.

"May I tell you something?" Erik whispered, lowering his chin to his chest. "Something you may think extremely odd? Of course, considering what I look, you may not think it strange at all."

"There's nothing wrong with you," Henri said gently, feeling tightness in his chest at the younger man's broken tone. He sounded so defeated...so hopeless. He had been found, and yet he was still so very lost.

"I've been in love, Henri. I've loved two women in my life, as fiercely and passionately as I dared. One of them is dead...the other one betrayed me," he said quietly. "I no longer have the courage to even look at another woman. And the odd thing about all of this? Well, I suppose it goes without saying that I have never known intimacy with a woman. So you do not have to worry about Susanna. Even if I had such thoughts about her, I would never act on them."

Erik raised his head and looked at him, his eyes finally revealing something other than pain and anger. It was the soul within him, that glimmered and shone brightly. He was a man who had given up on love. Henri knew how he felt...but to never know the joy of a woman's flesh? He could not even imagine never having made love to a woman. Never touching...never kissing. It had been a long time, indeed, but there had been one or two women in the last fifteen years.

And Erik was a thirty six year old man! He could barely remember being thirty six, but he had already been married for several years by that time. "You've never...Erik? Not once?" he asked softly.

"Not once," he whispered. "I thought perhaps...last year, I was trying my best...not to seduce her...I wanted to marry her. The soprano, Christine. It was not meant to be."

"What about the other woman?" he questioned, and watched as Erik closed his eyes and his hand reached up to touch the mask.

"_Mirela," _Erik sighed her name. "She was never mine. She belonged to Rulv. And it was my fault...she died because of me. Because I loved her."

* * *

Short chapter that I wrote during lunch break & personal break. If you notice errors let me know so I can correct them. I typed this in document manager. 


	36. A Walk to Remember

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Henri watched Erik as he stood and half started to run his hand through his hair, then curse softly. His hand stopped before he touched his head, and fell back to his side, clenched in a fist.

"Sometimes I forget," he muttered, "I've found it harder and harder to remember I'm not normal since I came here."

"That...," Henri cleared his throat, seeing suddenly Erik's hair was not his own. He hadn't been a black haired child. "That's good, isn't it? You should let go of the past...stay here with us. For as long as you want. Don't you want the chance to be happy? Get to know your family?"

"It's too late," he grunted, "they may have been waiting for me all this time, but I'm certainly not what they expected."

Henri strode to the roll top desk and opened a small drawer, withdrawing a large handful of letters. He handed them to Erik, who looked at them, and the addresses on the front.

"Those are from Colin," he said quietly. "He wrote often. He may not be a talkative man, but his words on paper come through very strongly. Please read them, so that you can at least know how much the man cares for you. I'll keep this between us, in hopes that you can reconcile with him."

Erik stared numbly at the letters in his hands, counting them quickly, there were close to seventy letters. Seventy. Words from Colin Talbot...his father. Some were old and faded, yellowed with age...and there was a recent one...only six months old.

When Erik looked up, he found himself alone in the library. He withdrew the most recent letter, and placed the rest inside his coat pocket. With intentions of reading one...only one...he started off towards the building site, cutting through the woods close to the road. He was more than halfway there when he heard voices. Immediately he slowed down, not wanting to be seen or heard, and listened. He made out the low rumble of male laughter, followed by Susanna's indignant response to something.

Following an instinct driven inside of him from years as the Phantom, he moved closer to the road until he could see them, standing no more than a foot apart. Susanna had an annoyed look on her face, and he saw Rand sigh heavily.

"I said I wasn't going to push you, Susanna. Won't you at least consider?"

"You asked for one walk," she replied hotly. "That was all you wanted, and now you expect me to go on a picnic Sunday?"

"It was just a suggestion," he said, sounding wounded. "You don't have to act like you've stepped in nettles. Are you sure that you two are just friends?"

She blew out a furious breath, and Erik nearly laughed as she put her finger directly against his chest. "I told you, Erik has no bearing on my decisions. He is not your concern, nor mine."

"I don't want to see you get hurt," he said softly.

"He's not going to hurt me!" she exploded. "I swear, if you say one more thing in that regard, I'm going to hit you. What do you have against him? And if you dare say one word about the mask, you're going to regret it."

Erik saw Rand's face tighten, and he stared at the ground for a moment.

"If I tell you something, will you keep it a secret?"

"What?" she asked, sounding suspicious.

"Do you remember my older brother? Jonathan?" he asked, his voice so low Erik had to strain to hear him. "You were probably so distraught during that time...you had just lost Derrik, and then your parents divorced. I think you may have been in Paris while it happened, and so few people know of it, anyway. You're the only person I've ever told," he said, crossing his arms in front of him.

"I remember him," she said softly. "He was a few years older than Derrik. You two were close...as close as Erik and my brother."

"Jonathan was really my...my cousin," he said softly. "My aunt was raped. By Adam Dessain."

Erik's felt the breath leave his body, absolutely stunned by the admission. Jonathan Vallee. Erik didn't remember him much. He'd been about five years older than himself, and he'd taken quite a few knocks from him. He hadn't been a bad kid, but he had always tended to pick on the younger children.

"After the fire, my father told him the truth. They had never gotten along, and Jonathan was devastated by the news. He ran away, just like Erik did, although he returned a few years later. And he had _changed_, Susanna," he whispered. "We used to be very close, he and I. When he came back, he was a vicious, violent man. He became Adam Dessain in every way possible. A few years ago they executed him in Orleans for raping a young girl."

Susanna covered her mouth with her hand, somehow suppressing the urge to gasp.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I...I had no idea. I didn't even know he was dead."

"No one does. He was just an everyday occurrence for those people. I watched...I watched him die. It is not a thing I should be telling you, Susanna. I'm sorry. I just wanted you to know why I fear for you. Because I know that no matter how much you love someone, it doesn't change who they are. Erik has been away for a lot longer than Jonathan ever was," he sighed, looking up at her for a moment. "I thought when he came to town...it would be the same. That's why I was coming to the schoolhouse. It was never about what he looked like, or what happened to him. It was about him being the son of Adam Dessain. I know now that it isn't true...but it doesn't change things for him, does it? He's believed it all these years."

No, Erik thought. It had not changed anything. He had become a monster for no reason. He'd never raped, or even thought about raping anyone, but he had killed men. Mostly the executions for the khanum, but it still felt like murder to him. Other acts were of self defense, and then there were the men who died inside the room he had built. Somewhere along the way he had become trapped inside with them, and couldn't find his way out.

"Erik isn't like that," Susanna finally said. "He's never so much as touched me...he doesn't like to be touched at all. Not even a hug, Rand. Nothing. He's had a very rough life. I can't tell you about it...but I assure you, what I know of it, he is not like Adam Dessain. He isn't cruel. He doesn't derive pleasure from hurting other people."

Erik's heart lifted at her words, at her sweet praise. No one had ever...ever given him a compliment. Not since he'd left here.

_'He is not like Adam Dessain.'_

If he repeated that in his mind like a mantra, like he had before to rid himself of his emotions and desires...maybe it would seem like the truth.

"You care about him very much don't you?" Rand asked softly.

"I do," she replied, smiling at him slowly. "Very much. I always have."

"And you have not changed your mind about me, have you?" he asked, sounding as if he were about to be dealt a lethal blow.

"You're a good man," she said kindly. "But no, I am not interested in courtship. I'm sorry, but I don't feel for you as...as I did for Julien. I will not lead you on. I'm not that sort of woman, so I'm not going to encourage you at all. You're a good man, but I just do not feel anything for you. Please don't feel hurt. There is a woman out there for you. She's just not me."

Erik couldn't help but smile foolishly as he watched the other man get turned down. Not that it was a victory in his favor, but at least he wouldn't be in turmoil, watching her being escorted around by another man.

"Then, as I said before, if all I shall have is one walk...there remains the one kiss I have promised to steal."

Feeling instantly alarmed, Erik stepped forward, seeing the look on Susanna's face at the statement. She looked suddenly nervous, expectant. Surprised.

Especially when Rand took her hand, and pressed a very brief kiss to the back of it. With a slight smile, he released her, then wordlessly began leading her back down to the cottage.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he moved close enough to see that she went back inside with no further kisses, and Rand retrieved his horse from the rail and left. He breathed a sigh of relief, because he no longer felt threatened...although he had no reason to be jealous of Rand. He should never think of Susanna as anything other than a friend. A friend, with two small children, who terrified him to no end. And he was in no way ready to fill her dead husband's shoes. No way would he ever be prepared to be a father.

He had nothing to offer her, or her children. Nothing inside of him that would benefit their lives. He was better off staying away from her. He realized the light had faded so much, he could no longer read the letter, so he headed back to the cottage and settled into the empty library. Through the open door he could hear her singing to her children, and he closed his eyes and listened, remembering when his mother had done so for him.

Susanna was terribly off key, but the softness and tenderness of her words and voice filled his heart with warmth. He suddenly felt incredibly close to tears. The worst sort, and ones he never allowed himself to give in to.

Tears of joy.

Feeling far too emotional to read the letter, he tucked it inside his coat with the rest. Reading the words of his father was something he would prefer to do with more privacy. He still wasn't sure if he could read them all, but he wanted to read at least one. Perhaps the first and the last.

Surely all seventy of them could not contain information pertaining to him. Surely the man had more sense than to waste his time on a son who was beyond the edge of sanity, and past the point of return.

* * *

Colin had brooded all evening after Erik had left, finding comfort in his wife, who was able to calm him as always. Music frustrated him, so one of the rare times in their marriage, he didn't play before they went to bed, and they spent most of the night talking.

And somewhere between midnight and daylight, Emma had suggested something brilliant.

"Why don't we go to Paris and find Erik's musical score?"

Immediately the idea had appealed to him. He had promised to stay out of his way...promised to leave him alone. But he needed _something_ after all this time. He wanted something of his son...of the man who had grown into a sullen and vengeful ghost. If Erik the Phantom was his son, then he would accept him however he had to. As long as there was a chance...just a chance that they could make peace.

When he told Jackson and Lily the next morning, they approved heartily. Especially Lily, who wanted to go. Jackson refused, saying his time would be better spent finding Erik himself, and learning more in a direct approach.

So he and his two ladies set out for Paris, intending to find some of Colin's old friends who had been patrons of the theater. Surely there was someone who knew something about the score. There had to exist at least one copy somewhere. And if it was out there, Colin was determined to find it.


	37. Brothers

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik made sure he was at the building site long before any of the other men arrived, even rising so early that he missed breakfast. The last thing he wanted was to incite further gossip, if any had been started about Susanna. Jackson arrived, much to his surprise and wisely did not comment any more on Susanna. The roofing materials would arrive within the week, and then they could start constructing inner walls, and framing for doors and windows. He waited expectantly each day to remember something more, but so far colors still remained a mystery.

By lunch time, he was ready to sit for a few moments, so he went back to the cottage with Jackson and didn't complain.

Susanna smiled when they came in, sitting with Elisabeth at the table, feeding her and avoiding being splattered with food.

The girl looked up at him and grinned. "Erk!"

Erik's eyes widened, and he looked at Susanna in shock. "Did she say my name?" he asked, feeling dumbfounded.

"She's been saying it since yesterday," she said, looking away from him. She didn't add that her daughter had heard her mother voicing sinful thoughts. "I think she may have made a new friend."

His fingers twitched as his side as he resisted touching her hair again. She looked so much like her mother, it was unreal. The first time he'd ever held Susanna, she'd been about this age. He'd been a very wise and mature five year old, and Derrik had been jealous that his mother had allowed him to hold her.

Instead he moved around the table, feeling unnerved by the blue eyed child that watched him as he sat down. She continued to stare as Susanna placed her on her hip and prepared their plates, and as she waved dramatically at him, smiling and laughing as she tried to get him to respond.

"You're supposed to do this, Erik," Jackson said, laughing, and took the girl from Susanna. He buried his nose against the girl's neck and growled, then lifted her dress and blew a raspberry on her stomach. The squeal of laughter that followed showed that yes, it was clearly the thing to do.

He couldn't imagine doing that to a child. Not that he hadn't done it to Susanna...and had received them from her and his mother as well. But now? He had become fearful of being touched. Not even Christine had been allowed to touch him. He wore gloves when he was around her, certain that if their skin touched she would immediately recoil from him. The last night...the night of Don Juan, he hadn't worn them. They had touched...his first touch in a long time. His first kiss, ever.

"Here you are, Erik," Susanna murmured, placing her arm across his shoulder briefly. He closed his eyes and breathed in as she set the plate in front of him. The smell of food did not quite mask her soft, sweet smell.

For the first time, he longed for it to remain. He wanted her hand to stay on his shoulder. He wanted to take her hand in his, and kiss it just as Rand had done. God help him, but he wanted more.

She moved away from him, taking her touch and leaving her smell. It stayed inside him, and he opened his eyes to find Jackson grinning at him. With a glare, he began to eat.

"Papa and Mama went to Paris," Jackson said suddenly. "Lily went with them as well. Perhaps you'd like to come by the house this evening?"

"Why would I want to do that?" he asked with a smirk. "You're irritating enough during the day."

"Oh, come on," Jackson said, exasperated. "You have a bedroom there. You could have always stayed with us. Now you can, and it'll just be the two of us. We can get smashed, and you can tell me about all the..._ahem_...exotic women you have met."

Susanna stopped moving to listen, but did not turn to catch the murderous look on his face.

"You are very close to either being fired, or beaten senseless," Erik whispered to his brother, although not quite low enough that Susanna did not hear. "If I agree, will you shut up?"

Jackson grinned, "Oh I'll try my very best. I cannot, however, promise anything."

* * *

After work, Erik took a change of clothes with him from the cottage, and rode beside Jackson in surprising silence to the village. He followed Jackson upstairs, where he had never been before, and was shown into a large bedroom, complete with a bath and sitting room. He turned in a full circle, taking in the elegance of the room. 

"This is mine?" he asked softly.

"It has been for as long as I've known about you," Jackson said, "you have one at our house in London, and also our country estate."

Erik stared at him, disbelieving and feeling both panic and exhilaration. "Why?"

Jackson shrugged, "Papa never gave up. He has been determined to claim you all these years. Do you know why he's gone to Paris?"

"Am I supposed to?"

"Since you won't see him, he's gone to find your musical score," Jackson replied, seeing instant confusion and anger enter Erik's eyes.

"Why?" he asked evenly. "What purpose would that serve?"

"He wants to hear it...to see it. He is a composer. And a father. He wants to know you through music, if that is all you will allow."

Erik looked away, "He won't find it. The theater burned...there is no way into my home that he will find, and if he does he will regret it."

"Why?"

"Because there are traps, Jackson. Laid very efficiently all over the theater, or whatever is left of it. I hope he doesn't go poking his nose in where it isn't welcome," Erik said quietly. "And I sincerely hope he doesn't ask too many questions. The gendarmes would love to know that I'm still alive. So would Daroga."

"Daroga?" Jackson repeated, finally sprawling into one of Erik's chairs. "What is a Daroga...or who...?"

Erik glanced at him, and took a seat himself. "A police commissioner from Persia. He came to the theater after I'd been there for a few years. Started asking questions...he eventually found me, not that either of us was pleased. He...he saved my life, before. In Persia. The shah had decided to kill me for knowing the design of his palace. Daroga helped me escape."

"You really did go into architecture, then?"

"I did a lot of things after I...left the Gypsies. For awhile I did the only thing I knew to make money. Doing magic tricks and story telling across Asia and Russia. I picked pockets when I didn't have enough to eat on, and blatantly stole whatever I wanted from people who had more than plenty. I learned about illusions from the Gypsies, and became quite the thief and criminal after I left them."

"And you think this Daroga would still be in Paris?" Jackson asked softly.

"I have no idea. He was not invited to stay in his own country after I escaped from Persia. If they find out I am alive, they will cease the small pension he earns. I left Paris to avoid him, and went to Switzerland," Erik said, feeling strangely relaxed. "What about you? You're old enough to be on your own. Why are you still living with...with your father? Lily is old enough to be married as well."

"I have no talent," Jackson said flatly. "I've written such complete crap...I don't think I shall ever write again. Lily has no desire to pursue a singing career, although she should. She's twenty...and last year she had her heart broken. It has been trying for her, because she's always felt uncomfortable around people she doesn't know, and he was a public figure. I thought he was a pompous ass, but she loved him."

"A nobleman?" he asked lazily.

"Barely," Jackson snorted. "The youngest brother of a baron. He would have to knock off five of his brothers before he could take his place. I think he ranks slightly higher than the brother of a half moron, although I could be wrong."

"Well," Erik drawled with a slow smile. "It looks like he's already ahead of me. I happen to be a brother to a complete moron."

* * *

Erik lay in bed that night, in his bed...feeling restless and odd. He'd indulged in far too many drinks earlier, and his head had been swimming before he'd finally stopped drinking. Usually after consuming alcohol he would sleep, but tonight he lay awake staring at the ceiling, wondering how his life would have turned out if Henri had managed to get him on that train. 

Would he still have had Jackson and Lily? Would he have ever become violent and repressed? A father? A husband?

After laying for what felt like forever, he finally got up and moved through the dark house. Immediately he could hear the piano downstairs, and he sat down, not wanting to disturb Jackson as he played. Listening, he detected much wrong with the music itself. The notes were all wrong...and didn't seem particularly well thought out.

But the words...

Jackson had a rich and deep voice, confident and strong. And if he'd written those lyrics, well, he was clearly in the right field...just not as well rounded as some musicians.

He got up and moved into the room with him. Almost immediately Jackson saw him and stopped playing, a scowl crossing his face.

"I thought you were asleep."

"Obviously I'm not," Erik replied quietly, sitting behind his brother in a chair. "Continue, please."

"I'd rather not," Jackson said stiffly.

"You've managed to offend me at almost every turn...pried into my life...and made a fool of me in front of Susanna," Erik said with an edge to his voice. "Play the damned piano."

Jackson began playing again, feeling the burn of shame and embarrassement creep up the back of his neck. He never played for family. And he had never wanted to play in front of this particular member, not that he thought he'd ever have the chance.

"Stop," Erik commanded. "Get up. I cannot take another bloody note."

"Of course," Jackson said with sarcasm, rising quickly, "you are obviously well qualified to instruct me. Why don't you show me how it's supposed to be done?"

Moving apprehensively towards the bench, he looked at his brother. Jackson had lost his usual cheeriness...he sounded like he'd gotten his feelings hurt. "Where did you learn to play?"

"I taught myself," Jackson said sharply. "It shows, does it not? I do not have the finesse and skill that _Master Erik_ possessed. I do not have the ear for notes...I am not as good as you, don't think I haven't heard it before."

"You've never heard me play," Erik said calmly. "Who told you that? Your father?"

"He's...he's never commented one way or another."

"Lily?"

Immediately he glared at him. "She's always been a pain in the ass. Papa never would have known I even played if it weren't for her loud mouth. She cannot keep a secret, it is simply impossible."

"She's a woman," Erik reminded him, smiling slightly. "I think it must be in their nature to be that way. So, she ratted you out? You were keeping your music skills a secret?"

"I've been playing forever," Jackson said softly, feeling as if he'd rather be shot than admit anything about his music. "I wanted...I wanted to play for Papa, but he was always so intensely consumed by _his_ music. And his music was usually about you. He isn't...hasn't been bad to me, he is just reserved. Not towards Lily...but he has admitted to me that he feels guilty that I was ever born. Because you were his firstborn, and he didn't do things right with you, and when he was finally trying, he lost his chance. But me," he shrugged, "I have tried to fill your musical shoes...and I have failed. I think I may just marry a young rich heiress, and be done with trying to find my vocation. Perhaps I have none."

"Perhaps it is not composition," Erik said softly. "But the lyrics were beautiful...you did write that, correct?"

Jackson nodded slightly. "I have never found a way to put music with it. It's such utter crap."

"Perhaps you are not meant to compose. Perhaps you should write...not only music, but other things. Music is not the only form of art, you know."

Jackson looked away for a moment, unsure if he wanted to tell even one person...even Erik what he had done. Not that his brother would have heard of it, living in Paris...and in seclusion at that. "I'll tell you what I have done," he said softly. "If you tell Lily, or anyone else, I'll never trust you."

"What is it?" Erik asked quietly, sensing for the first time that his brother possessed more than what he displayed to the outside world. He seemed intense, almost afraid to share whatever it was. "I won't tell a soul," he promised.

"I have written a book. Under another name...but it has not been accepted yet by the publishers. It is still being reviewed. I haven't told anyone...I finished it a year ago, but I debated whether or not sending it in. If it got out...I didn't want to offend anyone. I didn't want to embarrass my family. And if the Allards hear of it...they would be angry with me," he said, risking a glance at his brother. "It's about...about a promiscious woman. To tell the truth, it is loosely based on Guinevere Allard."


	38. Songs for the Ladies

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"You wrote a book about her?" he asked, trying not to be critical, or sound skeptical.

"Not about _her_," Jackson explained. "About a woman...somewhat like her. I was absolutely amazed by Madame Allard's secrets, her sins. You know, of course, she is a courtesan?"

"I do."

"And everyone knows she left you...," Jackson swallowed suddenly, feeling at once like a fool for mentioning his book. "And what she did to Susanna-"

"What did she do to her?" Erik interrupted.

"I'm not supposed to say anything," Jackson said softly, "but Madame Allard arranged for her and her husband to meet. She was sending her...her paramours here to court Susanna when she was very young. Julien Croix was one of them, although he claimed to never have...won her favors."

Erik stared at him in disbelief. How could a mother do that to her own child? What she had done to him was one thing...she hated him...but to dishonor your daughter, to make her part of something unpure, something tainted. Julien Croix had been a fool. Why anyone would ever want to win the favors of a woman like Guinevere Allard was beyond his comprehension.

"Susanna knew about this?"

Jackson shook his head. "She found out after they were married. After she was pregnant, I believe. I was at their wedding, then a few months later Susanna arrived back here. She had left him. Then he came and persuaded her to believe that he had never slept with her mother, which to me is just disgusting to even think about. That he would court her, marry her, when his intentions had first been directed at her mother." He shuddered, giving Erik a look of distaste. "He bought them a house in town, and she moved there right before Daniel was born. But Madame Allard was not quite finished with Susanna. She continued to bother them, and still sends presents for the children, which Susanna returns unopened. I just...I just wrote a story, Erik. Not about her in particular. But it is about a heartless woman who becomes a courtesan. I didn't include any plot that even resembled Susanna or Julien, or even you for that matter."

Erik felt anger course through him. She had not deserved his deceit. And her husband had not deserved her. Madame Allard...well...he still wished she would get what she deserved.

"If it becomes public that you wrote it, will it hurt Susanna, or her family?" Erik asked softly.

Jackson shook his head, "I doubt it is even published. And if it is, well, it will be a controversy to be sure. Along the lines of Madame Bovary...or even worse. I placed no moral limitations on this woman, she is truly evil and deceitful. She is a libertine."

"My opera was like that.., it shocked everyone. The seduction of a young and innocent girl, the music was, well some may have called it evil. I have no doubt your father's ears will turn red, and I doubt he has the audacity to play it," Erik said, laughing a little. "Your book sounds interesting. Could you be imprisoned for writing it?" he asked softly.

Jackson shrugged, "I have no idea. Perhaps. Or I could be the next Flaubert. One never knows."

"If it will not harm Susanna, then I should like to read it when it's published," Erik said, then turned and faced the piano. "Would you like for your ears to burn? I will play you part of my opera, then you can hold it over Lily's head when she returns."

Jackson grinned, "Play then, at least I shall have something on her for once."

* * *

Erik only returned to the cottage the next day to gather more clothes, apologizing for not giving her notice about lunch, but that the Talbot's maid had prepared something for them, and they had decided they didn't want to burden her. She was irritated with Lily for not telling her she was going to Paris, because she had told the children that one day for the last week of classes she would come and sing for them. The last two days of school would be hers to teach, and then summer would officially begin. 

Erik had decided to stay with Jackson until the Talbot's returned, thanking them both for allowing him to stay. It seemed he and Jackson were getting along very well, and she was happy for both of them. Jackson had always been a good young man, if a little misguided at times. Lily teased him mercilessly about how he always tried so hard to please Colin, and the man scarcely paid him any attention. It was difficult to watch the way Colin favored Erik, but she knew that behind the aloofness he displayed for Jackson, there was a healthy dose of guilt for what he hadn't done for Erik.

And Emma, bless her heart, loved all three of them equally. Erik, Jackson, and Lily. She had come the first summer, as pregnant as could be with Jackson, and Susanna had been instantly drawn to her. Her own mother had still been around at that point, and had done everything humanely possible to keep Susanna away from the Talbot's. Her father had firmly set his foot down where his only daughter was concerned, and Susanna had been allowed to do as she pleased. And what had pleased her was spending as much time with Erik's family as she could. Since Derrik had died, and Erik had left, she had been alone. After a childhood of two friends who had let her tag along behind them, she had become a lonely and withdrawn child. Then she had met Erik's family, and slowly she healed from that painful day, though never completely.

On Thursday, the day before classes let out for the summer, Susanna rode her horse to the village after school was over. She needed to get something for Elisabeth from the old house on the opposite end of town. Her father had instructed her very firmly to stop and see if Jackson or Erik would take her. It had been vacant for over a year now, and he was worried that a transient could have taken up residence.

When she stopped at the Talbot home she was greeted to beautiful music coming from the parlor. She held her finger to her lips to silence the butler, and stood in the open doorway watching Erik play. He looked a great deal like Colin, except Erik's hair...or hairpiece, rather, was in perfect position. His chin touched his chest, his eyes closed, mouth slightly parted. She couldn't see his face, just the mask, and he looked so foreboding...yet such passion came from his hands, it made her heart swell. The notes filled her spirit and blood with fire, made her want to close her eyes just as he was, and take in the breathless wonder of his music.

And when he opened his eyes, she was amazed that he didn't stop playing immediately. He frowned for a moment, then averted his entire face from her, but he didn't stop until the song was finished.

"That was beautiful," Susanna said softly. "Did you write that?"

"I did," he replied, and she could see his hands trembling as they touched the keys but did not depress them again. "It was for a girl I knew long ago."

She waited a heartbeat, foolish hope surging through her at once. "Me?" she asked, then immediately regretted it as a strange look came over his face. She knew she was mistaken.

"No," he said quietly. "For a Gypsy girl named Mirela."

"Oh. Well, it was very beautiful. I wish I could play like that," she said in what she hoped was a normal tone, and not one of dire mortification. "I thought...I thought you had given up on music."

"It gave up on me. This was merely something I wrote long ago," Erik said, looking at Susanna blushing furiously beside him. "I cannot compose anything new. It simply frustrates me...and to tell the truth, I honestly have not tried."

She still looked deeply embarrassed, and he knew it was because she had assumed the song was about her.

"Would you like to hear the one I wrote you?" he blurted out, and then felt his own embarrassment begin. He hadn't written anything to a woman, and actually played it for her, except Christine. Although that song had been seductive...this was not. She might not even like it, and it wasn't something he played often.

Erik looked up at Susanna, seeing her eyes were wide and her hands had crossed over her chest. She nodded, tendrils of her hair falling out from the severe bun at the top of her head. He nearly grinned at the delight that shone in her eyes, but he was too nervous, so instead he began to play.

It was not a romantic song, although it was heartbreaking and devastatingly beautiful. Melancholy struck time and time again, and she immediately knew it was something he'd written when he had missed her, or missed Artenay and his former life. And tears slid down her cheeks as she thought of him somewhere far away from home, composing a song about a girl he had known when he was younger. About a friend that he had lost.

Halfway through the song she moved beside him on the piano bench. He felt her shoulder brush against his, and when he would reach for a note his arm would press against hers. And each time it did he had to force himself to concentrate on the music, and not on her. It was unbearably difficult, because he could smell her, and he imagined that he heard her breathing beside him, although with the noise coming from the instrument, he was sure that it wasn't possible. Yet, he also thought he felt her breath against his ear, and when desire hit him this time, there was nothing he wanted to do to stop it.

By the time the song ended, they were both breathless sitting so close together. She was facing him, looking at the mask, and could not see his troubled face. His eyes remained hidden, for he kept them lowered and could not bear to look into hers. He knew if he did, he would be lost inside.

"Thank you," she whispered, and then he did feel her breath against his ear, and her words inside his mind. Her soft voice, slightly husky from emotion made his stomach tighten and his heart begin to pound. "That was magnificent...so...touching."

Touching. His eyes slid closed as he thought of doing just that to her. Touching her. His hands slid from the keys to his legs, digging his fingers into his flesh to stop his wayward thoughts. Susanna saw this, and assumed she was making him uncomfortable, which quite honestly, she was.

She forced herself to rise and move away from him, fixing a cheerful smile on her face, although she was certain nothing could hide the want and need in her eyes.

"Is Jackson in?" she asked, trying to dissipate some of the tension in the room.

He looked up at her, surprised. "No. He...he went out for the evening."

"Oh," she looked a little relieved, and suddenly nervous again. "Could...could I beg you for a favor then? I was going to trouble your brother with it...but I suppose I can ask you instead."

"What is it?"

"I need to go to my old home...where my husband and I lived, and retrieve something for Elisabeth. Something from Julien's medical supplies," she said, her eyes lowering to the floor at the mention of her husband's name. "Elisabeth is beginning to teeth again...she has a fever, and has begun fussing. I think I have an old metal ring of Daniel's, I have lost the last one...you make it cold and put on her gums..."

"You lived here in the village, did you not?" he asked softly.

"I did," she replied. "But the house has been vacant...my father was worried about vagrants coming in..."

Immediately he stood, "Then I will escort you. You don't need to worry about Jackson. I suspect if someone _was_ inside, he wouldn't be much help. Allow me a moment, I need to retrieve something from my room."

_A weapon_, she thought. He's going to retrieve a weapon.

However, when he returned, she did not see one, and if he had a pistol, it was cleverly hidden. She tried not to think about his capabilities of protecting her, even if someone was inside. She tried not to imagine the ease with which he could most likely kill another man. He didn't seem unfeeling...but how could you _not_ feel something when you took a life, even that of a condemned man?

As they approached the house she had lived in during her marriage, he turned to her before they dismounted, and he indicated that she would stay.

"Give me your key," he said quietly. "And wait here. I will walk through it once, just to be certain."

She stared into his green eyes a moment, and finally removed a key that was hidden beneath her dress. Watching him walk inside her home was unreal, and the door closed behind him with a firmness that seemed to seal all passages of air from her body.

She would hold it until he returned safely.

* * *

Okay, I'm off work today, so I'm going to reread my sequel, and try to finish it. Hopefully I can, then I can work on this one uninterrupted! 


	39. The Ghost of Julien Croix

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik held the warm key in his palm...the one he was quite certain had been between her breasts. It burned his hand, and for the life of him he didn't want to let go. Closing the door quietly behind him, he stared for a moment at the object. The key to their house...to Susanna and her husband's. Every evening Julien Croix had walked through this door, no doubt ready for a kiss from his beautiful wife, and ready to see the smiling face of his son.

He felt impossibly depressed merely standing in their hallway, especially when he looked and saw that nothing appeared to have been moved. Ever. Dust clothes draped across furniture, yet in the late afternoon light the house was calm and peaceful. Hardwood floors, expensive furniture. It was immaculate, except the fine layer of dust that covered everything and seemed to hang in the air.

Listening cautiously he walked slowly through the house, pausing occasionally to peer out a window and check on Susanna. She was staring at the front door each time, her hand pressed over her mouth as if waiting in breathless fear for his return. Trying not to look at certain things...their marriage bed...and Daniel's room...he went through it as quickly as possible.

There was no one, and appeared there had never been anyone inside.

And when he finally made it back outside, she scrambled from her horse and went to him.

"It is safe," he said softly, and moved aside to allow her to enter.

"Thank you," she whispered, and hesitated at the threshold. It appeared she would say something else, but then she turned and went inside.

He followed, keeping a great distance between them as she went down a set of stairs that had led to a small office. Lighting a lamp, she began rummaging through Julien's medical supplies, trying to suppress the guilt that was inside as she did.

She wasn't doing anything wrong. Nothing. Julien was dead, and nothing would bring him back. The man behind her wasn't saying anything...merely watching her as she began moving supplies around, and becoming more agitated as she went, not finding what she wanted.

"Is there something I can do to help?" he asked softly, and moved forward to look inside a drawer.

"No," she said quickly, feeling another stab of guilt. Erik looked startled, and moved back, closing the drawer just as fast as he had opened it. She didn't know what to think...what to feel. She wasn't certain he should be looking through Julien's things...even if he was a friend. She wasn't sure _she_ should be looking through them, but Elisabeth needed the ring.

"Susanna?" Erik said, noticing her eyes were beginning to look quite moist. "Are you okay? Perhaps we could buy another..."

"No," she whispered. "I...I just haven't been in this room since...since he died. I'm sorry, I know you're only trying to help, but I..."

"You don't want me to touch his things."

It was a statement, not a question.

"_I _don't want to touch them," she said softly. "These...these will be Daniel's...that is why I kept the house the way it is. For Daniel, and for Elisabeth. I couldn't live here...but someday they might."

She rummaged around for another moment, their conversation seeming to break the tension in the room. At last she pulled out a large metal ring, and smiled wanly at him.

"I've found it," she said, gripping it in her hand as she showed it to him. "I know Elisabeth will be relieved."

He nodded and moved out of her way, expecting her to want to leave the house quickly. It was obviously a painful reminder of the man she had lost. Once again, he was feeling jealous of a dead man.

But instead she went to her kitchen and stood, staring at the bare cabinets and empty pantry. The sight of it tugged at her heart, and she felt tears once again start behind her eyes.

Why had he been so foolish and gone into that house? Why had he died so young?

"Tell me about your husband, Susanna," Erik said quietly. "Was he a good man? Did he make you happy?"

She turned and looked at him, nodding her head. "He was," she whispered. "And we had our share of struggles, but yes, we were happy."

"What was he like?" he asked, wondering how she could love a man who had been deceptive...who had been intended for her mother.

"Quiet...always polite. He was a few years older than I, and was a doctor in Paris. My...my mother had sent him here to meet me," she said slowly, then tossed her head. "At the time I was unaware of her profession, and also unaware that it was how they met."

She looked at him defiantly as she said it, her eyes daring him to say something about her husband. She was protective of him, then? Of his memory?

"I have heard this about him," he said calmly, displaying nothing of the anger that he felt not only towards her husband, but toward her mother.

"Jackson?" she asked sharply.

He inclined his head, "He was being particularly loose lipped. We were both drinking. I promise I will not say a word to anyone."

"I don't want my children to know," she said, giving him a stern look. "They will not know that about their father. And...and I trusted him. He told me that nothing ever happened, and I believed him."

"Though not at first," Erik challenged quietly.

"It was like being blindsided," she said with pain in her eyes. "I...I just couldn't believe it. And Julien had no clue that my mother would ever tell me. But that's just what she did. She told me, and it wasn't only Julien. She had been sending them for a couple of years...but I turned them all down."

"Except Julien."

"Yes," she said softly. "He didn't try to impress me...he was kind, didn't act as if he wanted anything to do with me at all...and then suddenly he did."

She smiled from the memory, and Erik clenched his hands in frustration.

This was a harder enemy to fight than Rand Vallee. This was not something he could destroy...but he wouldn't have done so with them anyway. If she had chosen Rand, he would have accepted it. He would have found somewhere else other than Artenay to live, but he would never try to destroy love again. Not like Christine and Raoul.

"Your mother told you...?" he prompted

She hesitated a moment, then moved to her kitchen window, looking out over the overgrown garden. They would need to clean this up soon, although she would rather not.

"Susanna?"

"Yes," she said softly, "my mother told me. On Derrik's birthday. I was feeling very melancholy. I was pregnant, in Paris. I missed my father, which is what sent her into the screaming fit in the first place. I missed you, and that infuriated her more. Julien was away on call...

----

"_Please leave, Mother," she said sharply, pointing at the door. "I'm in no mood to listen to your rants. Especially not today. Can't you at least be civil today...Derrik's birthday, or do you not remember?"_

"_Don't be cruel, Susanna," Guinevere said, looking at her with disinterest. "You'll upset the baby with your useless babbling. Perhaps you'd like to go shopping? That will cheer you up."_

_Her patience snapping, she glared at her mother. "Are you mad? Do you not have any fondness for the son you lost? Or any guilt for the lives you've destroyed? I have no respect for you. None. You are the one who sent Erik home that day. You sent everything spiralling out of control...," she sobbed suddenly, unable to suppress the tears inside. "you left him! You left Erik! How could you? You're an unbearably disgusting woman!"_

"_He seemed perfectly content," she said snidely. "Earning a living by displaying his ugliness to the world. I tossed him a coin, my sweet. What more could he have wanted?"_

"_Get out! You horrid woman! Get out at once. When Julien comes home, I am demanding that we move as far away from you as possible. I hate you! I hate you, now get the Hell out of my house!"_

_Her mother gave her an evil smile. "Julien? Oh, no, darling. Julien will do whatever I ask of him. And would you like to know why? I have your husband on a very short leash...but perhaps just this once I shall lengthen his chain."_

"_Cease your incessant ramblings! Just get out!"_

"_Do you know how I manage to live so fine, Susanna?" she purred, showing her enormous rings off, and her necklaces. "Do you want to know how I've lived alone all these years...with no obvious source of income? I am a very, very good Madame. Oh, yes," she laughed as she saw Susanna's face pale. "Do tell your father dear. I think Henri might find the idea arousing, to say the least. I, Susanna, am the highest priced, and most sought after escort for the fine gentleman of Paris. I even receive callers from London, should I choose to accept them."_

"_No," Susanna whispered, but looking into her mother's eyes...and realizing quite suddenly that there was no other explanation for the wealth. She had never questioned it. Not at all. How naïve could she have been?_

"_And you know what else, my darling daughter? Your sweet, innocent Julien was a client. So were all the other handsome, eligible men I sent to meet you."_

_Guinevere enjoyed the look of anger and hurt in Susanna's eyes. It was time her daughter stopped living in a dream world. Time to stop thinking about that boy, Erik. She was married now, for God's sake, and pregnant with another man's child._

"_No," Susanna cried, "it's not true. I don't believe you...please tell me you have not done this to me...please..."_

_Guinevere smiled, "I did it for you darling. Not to you. Just consider him well broken in, and you can thank me later."_

_------_

Erik stared at Susanna in numb silence, unable to believe what he had just heard. He wished he had given in to the urge to snap the woman's neck when he had the chance. To take her into the catacombs with him, and torture her just as he had been. To drown her in his lake, then leave her body hanging in the third cellar.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, seeing the tears on her face. "I'm sorry she did that to you. You never deserved that."

Susanna turned her face away, blowing a sharp blast of air through her teeth. "I ran away after she left. I went to my father's...I didn't even speak to Julien. I just left him. My father hated him...still hates him, if I'm to be perfectly honest about it. He came immediately and told me everything. That _she_ had approached him, not the other way around. She had approached him, and sent him to me. I...I think he was flattered by her, because he was a shy man. He was reserved around people he didn't know...especially women. He just wasn't sure how to behave. And then she had twisted everything around. I believed him, because he was sincere, and he was very upset by what she had done. He brought his practice here, and bought this house," she shrugged, "I eventually moved here for the sake of Daniel, but it took a long time for me to trust him. I did though...I don't think he meant for any of that to happen. He wasn't a man who liked that sort of drama in his life."

Erik swallowed a great lump in his throat, feeling a kinship with this dead man who was her husband. Except no doubt he had been a handsome man, if Daniel was any indication of what his father looked like.

"How did he die?" he asked softly, seeing her eyes close immediately.

"He was beginning to get weaker. We couldn't tell what was wrong with him...suddenly he had a raging fever, blisters, weakness...and then one of his patient's died with similar symptoms. He had contracted something. He made Daniel and I leave immediately. I had to stay at my father's while...while he was dying. Papa came here, and I was so frightened. I thought I might lose them both, and myself and the baby as well. But Papa came home, and I never saw Julien alive again. He was gone within a week. All the medicine in this house would not kill whatever was inside of him. And neither one of us got sick, although a few people in the area did. Not all of them died...but there was a lot of fear that we would have an epidemic," she spoke quietly, turning back around to look out the window. "I was already pregnant with Elisabeth. Only about three months along..."

She looked down at her hands, blushing, although she knew he couldn't see her.

Pregnancy was not a topic she wished to discuss with a man. Especially this one.

"Do you still love him?" he asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer. Knowing with absolute certainty that he probably would not like it.

"I will always love him," she said quietly. "He was my husband. The father to my children. And there will always be room in my heart for him, even if I ever fall in love with another man."


	40. Willing to Share

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

By the time they made it out of the house, darkness was descending. They mounted their horses and rode back through the middle of the village. Several people watched them as the rode through, as they had on their trip to the house. When they reached the Talbot residence, Erik peered down the road for a moment, looking at the fading sky.

"I'll ride back with you," he said softly. "It's going to be dark in a few minutes. You shouldn't be out here alone."

"Oh, no," she exclaimed. "Then you would have to ride all the way back. You'll be exhausted."

He smiled briefly, "I'm used to long hours on horseback. Cesar will take care of me," he patted his horse's neck. "And I don't need much sleep."

She gave him a long look, but didn't protest any farther. If he wanted another hour of her company, who was she to complain?

"He's a beautiful animal," she said, looking at his stallion wistfully. "This gelding was a horse Julien used to go around on emergencies. He's basically seen it all, although I don't understand how he ever made it anywhere on him. He's very slow."

"You always had a slow horse," he said, giving her another brief smile. "I remember the pony you used to have. A dull plodding, boring, perfectly gentle white pony."

"Oh yes," she murmured. "I was never so eager to be rid of that blasted pony...and then I cried when Papa wanted to sell him."

"Cesar was a horse at the theater," Erik said, chuckling when the horse's ears pricked back at him, suspicious at hearing his name. "They were beating him...trying to get him into submission, but this one...well...he wasn't about to be tamed. He's a free spirit."

"Like you?" she asked, blushing when he turned to look at her. "I mean...you...you haven't had any ties...you feel free to wander around wherever you want."

"Not free," he said quietly. "I am doomed. Cursed. I wander around, yes, but I have never been free."

She turned her face away from his, not wanting him to see how much those words had hurt her. He hadn't appreciated her words of sympathy before...most likely that had not changed.

"Cesar is the only other horse I have felt attachment to," he said, deciding to ignore the flash of pity he'd seen in her eyes, and oddly feeling in the mood to share something with her. Horses seemed a safe enough topic. "I had my own horse that I left here on...and of course my mother's mare...Petunia."

He said the name with a grim smile, remembering even when he'd been a boy that the name had caused him to feel embarrassed when he had to say it.

"Ah, yes..._Petunia_," Susanna laughed. "What a sweet mare."

"It nearly killed me to leave her," Erik said quietly. "When...when I escaped, I had to leave them both behind. I didn't have time, and I knew that I'd be more visible with them. I always regretted not going back for my mother's mare."

Susanna was silent for a long time, and when he looked at her, she was crying.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what he had said.

"N-nothing," she whispered, "I...I just realized," she swallowed suddenly, looking away from him. "When my father went to the Gypsy camp, the man there lied to him at first. He said he didn't know anything about you. But Papa had seen the horses. Your horse...and Petunia. That was how he knew you had been there."

Erik felt as if he'd been struck. "He saw them?" he demanded, stopping Cesar to stare at her.

"He saw them," she confirmed, seeing the sadness on his face. The regret in his eyes. She could give him some peace, finally. "And he bought them. He brought them home. I began riding Petunia, and Papa retired your horse in the pasture with Derrik's. All three of them have passed, but they died here. Well taken care of...in good health. Of old age, most likely."

Erik continued to stare at her, and for a moment she thought she saw a tear across his cheek. He turned his head sharply and gave her the mask in profile, and all she could see was the tightening of his lips, and his hands clench more firmly around Cesar's reins.

"Your mother...the day before...we were riding back from church, and she had told me I could ride her mare. That doesn't upset you does it? That I rode her?" she whispered, praying that she had not crossed some boundary...ruined some image or touched something he'd never wanted anyone to touch. Riding the mare seemed like an enormous transgression...almost like the guilt she had felt for touching Julien's things.

"No," he finally said, urging Cesar into a walk. She could not detect anything in his voice. No emotion, nothing to show her what he felt, or didn't feel. "I'm glad they both died here. I never wanted to leave them."

She rode up beside him, looping her reins across the pommel. Reaching beneath her hair, she undid the clasp on a necklace. He turned his head, and this time she could see the tears in his eyes. She held the necklace out to him.

"Do you recognize this?" she asked softly.

He reached for the silver pendant, his mouth parting softly as he touched it. "Saint Christopher," he breathed, his hand closing around the warm metal. "Where...why...?"

"When my parents divorced, and my mother made me move to Paris with her, I wanted something to remember you both by," she said softly. "I...I was nosy, and I got into your mother's jewelry. I knew you had bought this for her, with money you earned from helping my father around the house, and in the schoolroom. I've worn it for twenty years now."

He handed it back to her suddenly, turning his face away. "Keep it," he whispered roughly. "I want you to have it."

Wordlessly she took it from him, allowing their fingers to touch this time, since he wasn't looking to see her do it deliberately. His hand tightened into a fist and returned to his side, his mouth once again a thin hard slash across his face.

"Can you tell me about the Gypsies?" she dared to ask. "Or...or anything else?"

"What do you want to know?" he replied, sounding cold, but not angry.

"How...how did you come to be with them?" Susanna whispered, "Did they kidnap you?"

"No," he said, his form becoming increasingly hard to see in the fading light. "I had pushed myself so hard, trying to get away from here. I'd collapsed...still in a lot of pain from the fire, and from being pushed down a flight of stairs. My fingers were broken...I'm not certain, but I think my ribs may have been as well," he glanced at her, but could not see her face any longer. "At first they took me in...cared for me. I was staying in a tent with a healer...an old woman who practiced everything from palm reading to tarot cards. She was a strange old woman, but she was kind to me. The leader, Danoir, was out visiting other camps. He was gone for about three months, and during that time I was free to do as I pleased, which was mostly stay out of their way."

"That changed?" she asked gently. "He...he locked you away?"

"Not at first," he sighed, remembering the interest the man had taken in seeing someone so incredibly hideous. "He taught me how to steal first...I picked pockets for him during the fair. He showed me how to become invisible, which was something I desired, for obvious reasons. I began learning other things, picking up something from just about every skilled man in the camp. Sleight of hand, illusion tricks, card tricks...escape tactics..."

She inhaled slightly, "You could have escaped? They taught you how...and you never did?"

"I couldn't," he said simply. "There were other factors involved."

Susanna hesitated, sensing there was something very volatile underneath his seemingly calm surface. Surely he wasn't going to reveal his secrets to her! She had thought never to know him...yet he seemed so willing to talk.

"Tell me about the girl," she said softly. "Tell me about Mirela."


	41. The Gift of the Innocent

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

It was only fair, he thought. She had told him about something incredibly painful...he should do the same. But he had never discussed Mirela. It hurt merely to say her name. To think about her long black hair, and dark brown eyes. An exotic beauty...she would have grown into an incredibly sensual woman.

"She was a year older than me," he said softly. "After I had healed, and was able to move around the camp, she was the only one who wasn't afraid of me. All of them are superstitious...not that she wasn't...but she had seen me in pain, and knew it was an injury, and not what the others believed."

"And what was that?" Susanna asked, sounding baffled.

"That I had been to Hell where my father, Satan, had given me my mark," he said scornfully. "She never called me anything other than by name. Eventually we became friends. She...she helped me make my first...," his voice dropped to a mere whisper, "...my first mask."

Susanna wanted to reach through the darkness and find his hand, to tell him there was nothing wrong with him...but she wanted him to continue speaking. She wanted to know more about him...more about Mirela.

"You loved her?" she asked softly.

"I did," he said quietly. "Not a romantic love...not at first. We were both young. When Danoir returned he noticed immediately who I had become friends with. For awhile he allowed us to remain undisturbed, but Mirela had told me that we shouldn't be seen together too often, otherwise it would mean trouble for both of us. They hold virtue in high regard, and she was quickly coming to her marriageable age. Some girls are married before their twelfth summer in the Gypsy culture. She was to remain until she was fourteen."

"Twelve?" she whispered. "My God, they're just children. What about the boys? Are they forced to get married so you young?"

"They are older than the girls," he conceded with an edge to his voice. "But usually not much. Her intended...I believe your father met him, was Rulv. He was Danoir's son. His replacement...after I killed him..."

She edged her horse closer to his, and he felt her hand touch his arm. Tears rushed into his eyes at once, and he wanted to feel her just as much as he wanted to pull away. He was very close...so very close to losing his control. He wanted to tell her...but he didn't want to show his anger...his pain. He was a master at suppressing his emotions, but tonight, he was as weak as a kitten. Especially when her hand slid down his arm, and closed over his hand.

"Why did they lock you up?" she asked softly, feeling his hand like a rock beneath hers. He was unresponsive at first, then suddenly he dropped Cesar's reins and touched the back of her hand with his free one.

She closed her eyes at the sensation. Where one hand was cold...the other was very warm. At least it made her warm on the inside. Her breath caught as he touched her...he was willingly doing so...and he touched her until the horse realized his master was not paying attention, and began to walk quicker.

He immediately regain control of his mount, and slowed him down so that Susanna could continue to hold him.

"Danoir was content to allow me to roam through the camp. I was not allowed to leave...although I never tried...but when Rulv caught Mirela and I talking one day, alone, by a creek he begged his father to do something with me. He said I was...was bringing shame onto his future bride. Danoir locked me up, and then decided that I had other uses. I was...," he exhaled harshly, then stopped his horse immediately. "_Susanna_...," her name was a choked sob, and he gritted his teeth tightly even as tears began to fall from his eyes.

"Shhh," she murmured, squeezing his hand. "You don't have to tell me. I'm sorry I pried into something so painful."

Susanna listened to him struggle, heard his harsh breathing and a soft curse as he tried to recompose himself. She had wondered through most of his speech if he'd felt anything at all, but this rage and pain that boiled over showed her he felt very deeply...he still hurt very deeply. And he was not as strong as he thought he was. She wanted to tell him that he didn't need to be.

"You'll never know," he finally whispered through clenched teeth. "I hope you never do...the indignity of being locked inside a cage. The shame...and people paid money to see me. Those good, _kind hearted_ people...the _decent_ members of society...they _paid_ to see me. I finally did as your mother suggested the night I woke up, Susanna...," he said harshly.

Erik paused, feeling fury overtake him as he thought of Guinevere Allard. He still longed to wrap his fingers around her throat. He'd never hurt a woman before...but this one...how he wanted to...

"...I put a sack over my head...Mirela brought me one each night that they displayed me, and tried to allow me some modicum of privacy. She respected me...even after they had taken all my belongings...after they beat me for being disobedient. If I would not remove the sack, then they would do it for me. Danoir or Rulv," he spat their names as if they were a curse. "They delighted in it...and at last I knew the truth about men. I knew what monsters they could be. I only wish I had killed both of them, instead of just Danoir."

"Erik," she whispered, her hands reaching blindly for him. Their horses stopped, Cesar carefully ignoring the curious gelding, and she leaned heavily in her saddle to touch him. He didn't pull back from her this time, although she could barely reach him. Their legs touched at the knees, her face pressed against the fabric of his shirt. But she was holding him, and he didn't pull away. He didn't return the embrace, and she had the feeling he merely tolerated her. "I'm sorry," she cried, "I wish I could have done something...I wish my mother had not done this to you...please forgive me. Please."

Surprised, he turned his head towards her, his chin grazing her forehead for a moment. He moved it, stunned at the contact, then quickly moved it back so they were touching.

"You've done nothing wrong," he finally managed to say, his beard scraping against her soft skin. His eyes closed as he felt her sigh, a soft sound of comfort. Coming from her, it should not have sent his blood boiling like it did. But lately he had not thought of Susanna as anything other than a woman. A beautiful, flesh and blood woman. "I'm not angry with you for anything," he said softly. "I...I was when I first came here. But for the wrong reasons...it was misplaced. I should apologize to you."

"Mirela is dead isn't she?"

Susanna felt Erik's body tense more. His head lifted away from hers, and she felt his breath stir her hair. She moved back to her own horse slowly, wishing she could have prolonged the contact indefinitely.

"Yes," he said quietly, and urged Cesar forward again. "She died, Susanna. Just like Derrik."

Tears slid down her face in the darkness, and she moved her horse to walk beside his. Derrik...did that mean she had died from fire? It was horrible to think about...a bitter irony if it was true. She waited for him to explain, but he was silent. Possibly remembering things she had dredged up, things he never wanted to remember.

As they reached the fork in the road, where they had always parted as children, Susanna began to feel panic. She didn't want him to leave. They had gotten along so well, despite all the things they had talked about...so many painful things...but it had been so easy to talk to him. To tell him things. He wasn't judgmental...he didn't berate Julien for how he'd handled things.

"Will you come inside?" she asked as the cottage came into view. "I know its late...and you have to ride all the way back..."

"You want me to?" he questioned, almost sounding angry.

"Yes."

He cursed himself for having hope. She pitied him...wanted to befriend him again. There was nothing more she wanted. She was a mother, a widow.

_And if she had not found Rand Vallee attractive, what chance did he have?_

"If it isn't too late," he finally said, although he no longer sounded agreeable to her.

He took her horse from her when they reached the yard, and watched her as she went into the cottage. His mind raced as he put her saddle and horse away, and left Cesar secure in the paddock. What possible reason...? Was there any other? Did she just truly miss Derrik, and found comfort in his strange mannered friend?

When he walked into the house, it was to chaos. Susanna was trying to clean the ring, and her father was in a rotten mood because she'd left him for so long with a screaming child.

"I'm sorry, Papa," she said, giving Erik a guilty look. "I didn't realize it would take so long. Why don't you go on to bed?"

Henri glared at her, then at the still wailing Susanna on the floor. "It won't do me any good. How could I possibly sleep with this incessant racket?" he asked, pointing at the girl.

Elisabeth was staring up at him with woeful blue eyes, her voice nearly hoarse from crying.

"I love you, little girl," he said sternly, "but you have gotten on the last thread of my patience for tonight. Erik, I apologize...I'm not normally like this...but _that child_," he pointed to her again, "is driving me insane."

The cries were indeed an assault on the ears. And if he'd been listening to them for the better part of of the day, he understood completely. On some instinct he didn't understand...and most certainly did not find comforting...he bent down and picked her up. The girl's eyes widened even more...and she stopped crying.

"Erk," she looked at him, then reached out and touched the mask. He shifted her to his left side, holding her hand down when she tried to touch it again.

Susanna turned, mouth open, and looked at him. He didn't look particularly happy about it, but he was holding her. And Elisabeth was staring at him, although she didn't look particularly happy either.

"Thank God," Henri muttered. "I could not hold her another moment. If she'd just be still for half an hour, she would be asleep."

Without saying a word, Erik went into the library and sank into Henri's chair, holding the child against his chest. His hands shook slightly as he touched her hair, and she stared at him with wide eyes, her own small fists becoming drenched in slobber as she put them in her mouth.

"Elisabeth," he murmured softly. "You look too much like your mother. I feel sorry for whatever man has to take you under his wing."

"Thanks a lot," Susanna said sarcastically from the doorway. "I appreciate your vote of confidence for my looks, and for my daughter's as well."

His eyes shot to hers. "That wasn't what I meant."

She grinned, almost impishly at him. "Then what did you mean?"

"I was referring to your disposition as a child, madame," he said stiffly, unaccustomed to her teasing. "You were..."

"A brat?" she supplied, moving forward to hand Elisabeth the ring. "It isn't as cold as it should be, but I think it will help her gums."

"You should find someone with white willow," he muttered. "It will relieve the pain, and reduce her fever."

Her hand moved over Elisabeth's forehead. "She isn't too high," she said, caressing her cheek softly. "Do you want to come with Mama?" she held her hands out to the girl.

Elisabeth turned her face away, clutching Erik's coat as she made a grunting noise.

"She's fine," he said softly, placing his hand across her back. "I'll stay until she falls asleep."

"It could be awhile," she warned him.

He looked up at her, and she could see something in his eyes. A desire...a need. The touch of a child had found a place inside his heart. Her daughter had reached him...had broken through some of his defenses...and very possibly had him wrapped around her little finger.

"I'll stay," he said again, closing his eyes and leaning back in the chair.

Elisabeth lay against him, sucking on the ring, and on her finger for several moments, until her hands began to touch his face again.

Susanna sat down across from them, watching as he again moved her hands away from his mask, looking at her sternly.

"No," he said firmly.

She stared at him again, but gradually lay her head back against his chest, and she watched as her daughter's eyes began to grow heavy. Erik's seemed to as well, and within half an hour they were both asleep.


	42. Explanations

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

The surge of love and tenderness she felt for them both left her breathless. He looked so relaxed, so very handsome sitting there, and little Elisabeth tucked so trustingly against his chest. If she was allowed whatever fantasy she wanted...with no interruption from her guilty conscience...then this one was perfect. Erik asleep with Elisabeth, and she was watching them both, feeling warmth and peace that she hadn't known she could feel around a man again.

If she was allowed her fantasy, then she could imagine Erik lifting her daughter and taking her to bed, then returning to sit in the dark with her...or beside her...perhaps he would pull her to his side, and kiss her in the shadows of the room. She would lay her head against his chest, and hear his heart beat beneath her ear. Smell the rich masculine cologne he wore, and feel the fabric of his expensive clothing against her cheek.

His arms would wrap around her, and their breaths would caress each other's skin as they kissed. All those things she wanted from this unusual man. As strange as it sounded...knowing that he could become angry with the merest urge...she knew he would not hurt her. Or the children. She feared _for _him though...he was still so angry. He would probably always be angry, not that she could blame him. But he'd managed to get away from his past...he had distanced himself from Persia, from the theater. By all accounts he'd lived alone the last year...of course, he had lived alone in the theater too.

"Susanna?"

She looked through the doorway to see her father looking in on them. Erik's head raised as well, and he shifted the child in his arms.

"Yes, Papa?"

"It's rather late. You should put her in bed," Henri said softly.

Henri had seen the look in her eyes. He had seen the way she looked at Erik...not the first time...and it worried him. Erik was not the sort of man that needed to be provoked. Not in that way. If he had managed to avoid women for this long, there was no doubt a gentle touch and a few words of encouragement from Susanna would have him once again in turmoil.

Erik stood slowly, holding her against his shoulder. Elisabeth's head slumped to the side, opening her eyes for a moment, then returning to sleep.

"Which way?" he whispered, looking at Henri.

"Susanna's room," Henri said softly, and moved aside as Erik carried her to bed. Henri glanced at his daughter, who was smiling slightly staring at the floor. "Susanna, it is late for you as well. Tomorrow is the last day of school. You should be in bed."

"Yes, Papa."

He turned and walked down the hall, seeing Erik laying Elisabeth down in the cradle. Erik glanced up at him, then back at the child.

"I'll be going, Henri," he said, before the man could say anything. He'd seen the look in his eyes earlier...one of apprehension as he'd found them in the dark. "If your offer no longer stands, I understand. I won't return when the Talbot's come back from Paris."

He hesitated a moment, wishing he had the heart to turn the man away. He didn't. He never would. "Susanna is my only child," he said softly. "I trust her. I want to trust you. Don't give me a reason not to."

Erik nodded, "I won't dishonor either of you. I...I think fondly of her. But my previous statements still remain. I think that women shall forever remain a mystery to me. No one has cared to look...and I don't think anyone ever will."

He moved abruptly past Henri and down the hall to the library. Susanna was still sitting where he had left her. Glancing at a clock, he saw it was just after ten o'clock. Not late for him...but he knew she would be tired.

"I should be going," he said, startling her.

"Will you visit again?" she asked, rising quickly. "I don't make it into the village very often. Even less since I will have both of the children this summer. Perhaps you'd come by after work...we could go to the lake..."

"With the children," he said quickly. "And...and Jackson...Lily when she returns."

"Of course," she said softly. "I look forward to it then."

"Goodnight," he finally whispered, wishing he had the courage...and the permission to take Susanna in his arms and kiss her.

"Goodnight," she returned, wishing Erik would reach for her and press his lips to hers.

Neither of them did, or said what they wanted. For Susanna, it was a restless night as she lay in her cold, empty bed. And Erik spent another hour in the saddle, wishing ironically that someone would come along and beat him senseless, so he could forget what it had felt like to have her forehead against his chin, and her hands on his.

And Jackson, damn his irritating brother, merely grinned when Erik came in the house in absolute frustration, and viciously attacked the piano in a new composition that not only did he not bother to write down, but managed to raise the hair even on his own neck.

Don Juan was pale in comparison to what he played that night.

* * *

Colin waited impatiently outside the door of Monsieur Gilles Andre, the morning sun coming out from behind the horizon and beginning to bear down on his back. The butler had informed him that Monsieur Andre had been out late last night, and seven in the morning was not a proper time to call on someone.

Colin had informed him to get his employer out of bed, or he'd be coming inside to do it himself. He'd been all over Paris yesterday, trying to find the other one, Monsieur Richard Firmin, only to be informed that he'd gone into hiding since the fire, in disgrace, and had taken an enormous share of the profits from the sale of the burned out theater. Lefevre had been a good man. He never should have sold the theater to those idiots.

The door opened, and the same incompetent butler looked out at him. "He will see you, Monsieur Talbot," he said haughtily.

He stepped aside and led him not to the parlor, or the sitting room, but straight up into Monsieur Andre's atrociously decorated bedroom. He did not hide his distaste as he saw two young ladies in the man's bed, as the older gentleman himself stood and tied a robe around his body.

"Colin Talbot," he said warmly. "I could not be more shocked. Imagine being woken to such wonderful news, that an esteemed composer such as yourself has come to pay me a visit. To what do I owe this honor?"

"I want Don Juan Triumphant," he said bluntly.

Andre gave him a strange look. "You want the Phantom's Opera? What the devil for? No one will play it."

"Do you have it?" Colin asked, ignoring him. "I'll pay you whatever it takes."

"Well...no...," he said softly. "The copies he...he _gave_ us were destroyed in the fire. The only one who knows the rest is the Phantom, and he is dead. I suppose the Vicomtesse might know it, but her husband has taken her far...far away from Paris. And what little is left of the theater is probably an indication of what his...his lair is like."

"Dammit," Colin muttered, spearing a glance at the two naked girls in the bed who were watching him. They giggled uncontrollably when he scowled at them. "And there is no one else? Nothing left? Are you absolutely certain?"

Andre narrowed his eyes, "What is this about?" he demanded. "You're not the first person to come looking for the score, but why you? You already have an established reputation...not here, but in England. Why do you want it?"

Colin stared at him stonily, wanting to have the energy he would have had twenty years ago to slug him right in the jaw. Alas, he did not.

"Can you help me or not?"

Tiring of the brooding composer, Andre waved his hand at him. "Try Madame Giry. Or...or that odd fellow that was always lurking about. The Persian. They knew the Phantom's secrets, more than anyone else. Good luck trying to get anything out of them. No one else has been successful."

Leaving the house, he went back to the hotel to see how Lily and Emma were faring. The smile he had for his ladies slid from his face when he saw who was in their sitting room.

Those evil lips turned into a smile. "Why hello, Colin," Guinevere said, her eyes flashing a deep anger that he knew was at him, more than anyone else. Doubtless anyone else had ever slapped her before.

"Your daughter was just telling me about the miraculous return of your son. _Erik_," she gave a look of malice, "I was interested to hear how he has been all these years."

He glanced at Emma, who was white with repressed fury, and Lily, who had a challenging smile on her face.

"Oh, he's going to be fine, _Madame_," Lily hissed. "He has his family now, and we will not allow anything else to hurt him."

"Lily," Colin said in warning. He hoped his daughter had not invited her here. It would be just like her...but for Erik's sake, he hoped not.

"Is he still...," she chuckled slightly, "...oh, dear...that wasn't polite was it? I was merely wondering if he still made a living off his...well...his tragic face. How deplorable."

Suddenly Colin was at her throat, just the way Erik had been to his.

"I've warned you once, you little whore," he said in quiet rage. There was no sense in screaming at her. It would do no good. "You should not have come here."

He gripped her throat with one hand, and her mouth with the other. She didn't struggle, and looked at him in delight.

"I always knew you would be passionate," she purred, "I always wanted to find out."

"Do you want to lose the rest of your teeth?" he snapped, shaking her head with his hand. "I don't think you'd be very pretty when I got through with you. I'd like to kill you, Madame. I...," he tightened his hand around her painfully, his fingers digging into her flesh. "I don't think I would feel the slightest amount of guilt for it. And I think that anyone who ever met you would rejoice."

"Colin," Emma pleaded. "Let her go. Please...just release her."

He felt her hand on his arm, and turned to look into her worried eyes. He shook his head, and turned to glare at Madame Allard. She was choking now, her eyes suddenly filling with panicked tears. Her hands turned up to grab at his, clawing into his flesh painfully. "If you ever come near my family again, I will give you a slow and painful death."

Dragging her by the throat, he pulled her to the door then shoved her into the hall. Her head struck the wall, and she slumped against the floor in a daze. Not caring enough to pity her, he shut the door and turned to look at his stunned wife, and grinning daughter.

"Oh, sometimes I wish I was a man," Lily crowed. "I wanted to do that, Papa. Honestly."

"_Someone_," he said with trembling fury, "is about to explain how _that _woman came to be in our hotel room. And then, that same person will _explain_ how she knows Erik is back. Because she will doubtless begin her machinations again...and _Lily_," he said, finally meeting her eyes, "...if you have told her about the Phantom...I am going to send you back to England, where you will remain until I have decided your fate. I promise it will not be kind, if you have said anything...if you have even breathed the _name _in her presence."


	43. Vengeful

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Lily stared at her father in wounded agony. "How could you think that? I didn't invite her here! And I didn't say anything about the Phantom. She knew he was back when we opened the door, otherwise we would have never allowed her inside."

Emma moved cautiously to the door, peering outside at Guinevere's body.

"Leave her," Colin said sharply.

"No," she returned evenly. "I will not."

She opened the door and knelt beside her, touching a hesitant hand to her bruised, heavily jeweled neck.

A low moan emitted from the woman, and her eyes rolled backwards in her head. "Oh, you're going to pay for this," she said in a raspy voice. "You're all going to pay for this."

"Madame Allard?" Emma said worriedly. "I'm very sorr-"

"By God, you will not apologize to her!" Colin shouted, pulling his wife back into the room by her arm. "I will _not _allow it. She will live, and that is the only thing I will allow her today. Not our compassion, not our forgiveness. She is a whore. A bitch, an evil, vindictive woman, and I will not allow you to so much as talk to her again!"

"Yes," Guinevere whispered roughly, coughing as she tried to rise to her feet. "I can see what a hypocrite you are, Colin. How many years did you _visit _Francine while you were married? And my husband as well? Erik's mother was more of a whore than I ever was, and Adam Dessain gave her exactly what she deserved."

"You were always too stupid to see the truth," Colin said harshly. "You were blind, to throw away Henri. Did he care for Francine? Yes, I always suspected he did. But he never...ever acted on it. And I was never unfaithful to my wife. Not once. Not everyone needs to indulge in depravity to find happiness. Of course," he scoffed at her before he shut the door, "the money doesn't hurt, does it?"

Guinevere felt hate and anger well up inside of her. And the burn of shame as she finally made it to her feet and saw that people were staring at her from the door of their hotel rooms.

"What are you staring at?" she hissed, staggering down the hall, then downstairs to her carriage. Her baffled footman rushed to assist her inside, and she collapsed against him as he set her inside the carriage.

"Madame? Do you need to see a doctor?"

"No," she spat, then winced as her throat had a sharp pain go through it. "No, I do not need a doctor," she said quieter, but with no less anger. "I want to see Raymonde Dessain."

* * *

Colin continued to stare at Lily, even when she said again that she had not invited her.

"She already knew, Papa," she said, exasperated. "I promise. Tell him, Mama!"

"I don't see how she would have had time to send a note," Emma said, still upset by what violence she had witnessed. "She may have friends in the village...they could have written..."

He breathed a sigh of relief, and hoped that nothing else had been revealed to her. "I'm sorry Lilian," he said softly, finally putting his arms around her. "I don't want anything else to happen to him. Perhaps we should forget the score, and just go back. I...I miss him already."

"Jackson will take care of him," she said giving her father a kiss on the cheek. "And Susanna, and Henri."

Still, he felt a sense of foreboding. The woman had already done enough damage to Erik's life. There was no telling what she was capable of now.

"I'm going to meet with this Persian fellow," he sighed. "And if I cannot find him, we are going back to Artenay. This is not as important as getting to know _him_...but I _would_ like to find that score."

"Be careful," Emma said worriedly. "I don't want that woman to hurt you."

"Worry about Erik," he replied. "Don't worry about me. I'll finish what I started if she comes anywhere near me."

* * *

The Persian lived on the Rue de Rivoli, a dank little apartment that seemed not fit for a man of his bearing. Colin entered at the request of the small statured servant, who was introduced as Darius. The Persian did not identify himself, merely stared at him with dark eyes, and a speculative look on his face.

"You seem familiar to me," he commented softly.

"My name is Colin Talbot," he replied. "I have come for information pertaining to the Don Juan Triumphant score."

"I thought so," the Persian replied. "You are a relation then, of the ghost?"

Colin's eyes narrowed, "My life is none of your concern. Do you have the score?"

"You are not Adam Dessain," he continued. "Yet, your eyes are like Erik's. He hasn't...returned...has he?"

"How can a ghost return?" Colin said simply. "A ghost is dead."

"Quite so," he said in his strange accent. "Does he request it?"

Colin glared at him, "I will pay you whatever you want. I'm not interested in discussing him with you. Do you have it, or not?"

"No."

Colin felt his heart dive into despair. The Persian watched the disappointment cross his face. The torment. Without an explanation...and despite what he'd heard to the contrary, this man had to be Erik's father. He had mentioned Colin Talbot in the past. And a little village north of Orleans where he had grown up.

"I can, however, get it for you."

He stepped toward the man, eagerness on his face. "Where is it?" he demanded. "Where is Erik's opera?"

* * *

Guinevere stepped through the doorway of the foul smelling, decaying house, holding her dress around her legs to prevent them from brushing the walls. "Ray?" she called, hearing a grunt coming from the back of the house. She walked towards the room in the back, where she knew he probably was, and the reason why.

She found him slumped across the table, a bottle clenched in his hand as saliva pooled around his mouth. She wrinkled her nose, wishing she had someone else to go to...but this one had a vested interest in doing her bidding.

Guinevere had found Raymonde Dessain soon after she arrived in Paris, and occasionally found it beneficial in the past to give him a free pass in exchange for something she wanted. She hadn't sought him out in more than five years. Last time, he'd warned her not to come back or he'd kill her, but it hadn't been the first time he'd threatened her.

Ray was the youngest brother of Adam Dessain, only a couple of years younger than she was, and possibly twice as mean as Adam had been.

"Ray?" she slapped him sharply on the shoulder. "Wake up!"

The man raised his head, looking at her through weary, bloodshot eyes. "What the hell do you want?" he growled at her. Then leered, "I might be too drunk, Guin. Wait till I sober, would you dove?"

"You're not getting that till you've had a bath," she said, turning her nose up. If he noticed her bruises, he didn't care. "I have a task for you, Raymonde. You're going to Artenay."


	44. What I Still Want

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

By the following Monday, Erik was ready to pull what little hair he had out. The roof was on the house, just in time for it to begin raining, and riding back and forth to the village had become a two hour ride instead of one. Jackson refused to give up, otherwise he would have taken Henri up on his offer to stay with them, but he didn't want to impose more than he had to. He had carefully avoided Susanna for the last four days, hoping he wasn't hurting her feelings by staying away, but deciding it was the only course of action, otherwise he would go mad.

And when he arrived, soaking wet, back at the Talbot residence, he was greeted to the sight of Lily sitting on the porch, watching it rain. He rode Cesar around the side of the house and put him away, adjusting the mask, which had begun slipping, and the hairpiece, which probably looked just that: like a hairpiece.

Nothing could be done.

He joined her on the porch, expecting her brash manner, but she smiled and patted a space on the swing beside her. "Where's Jackson?" she asked, giving him a sunny smile. "You didn't kill him did you?"

Amused, he chuckled. "Not yet. But tomorrow is another day."

"The staff says you've been staying here," she said softly. "Are you going to continue? Papa is quite pleased."

"I had not planned on it," he said, beginning to feel uneasy. "I only intended to stay a few days. And Jackson is trying to charm Rene Vallee's youngest daughter."

She nodded, "Ah, yes. He always _tries_."

Erik didn't know what to say. She always seemed to have something negative to say about Jackson. Women were strange creatures, and he was certain he would never figure them out. One moment they could compliment you, and the next take the rug right from beneath your feet.

"Papa has your opera," she said casually, proving his point.

"He actually found it?" Erik asked, looking at her in stunned surprise. "Where?"

"Your little Persian friend gave it to him," she shrugged. "Interesting home you had there, by the way."

He turned his eyes to the rain falling in the yard, watching it create puddles on the ground, and breathing in the fresh smell of damp earth. If he concentrated on it long enough, he could forget that his father and sister had seen his home. He could forget they had seen the coffin he slept in, and the obsessive drawings of Christine. He could, of course, if Lily had not continued reminding him.

"Is there something fundamentally wrong with you? I mean, a coffin is a little dramatic, isn't it? And that girl...she wasn't even what I consider pretty. Certainly not enough to grace your canvas, unless you just aren't a good artist. And what was with that little room-"

"Are you finished?" he bit off, glaring at her. "I am not accountable to any person, certainly not a long winded little British girl with a penchant for cruelty."

"I'll have you know I did not swoon when Papa played it," she said haughtily. "Mama _might_ have considered having the vapors, but I was quite amused by it. So _passionate_...we would never hear anything like that in England. Only a Frenchman could write something so bloody romantic."

"Romantic?" he frowned at her. "I don't think that qualified as _romance_, mademoiselle."

"Oh, then seduction, if you will. Personally, I thought it was stimulating."

He held his hand up to her. "Please. I think this conversation has gone far enough."

"What's the matter, Phantom," she whispered, grinning at him. "Don't you like being teased?"

"Not expressly."

She sighed, "Very well then. I will allow you a few days grace. But be prepared, I will not give you any slack once I've had my respite. And the insults will be worse after I've had a few days to think of them."

Lily leaned back against the swing, enjoying the sudden anger that leapt into his eyes. He was so easily provoked. Almost too easy.

"You are a very unusual girl," Erik said softly. "You_ insult_ people, and expect them to_ like_ you?"

Her eyes softened for a moment. "It is best, is it not? I wouldn't want anyone to discover that there's an innocent girl in here, now would I?" Then her expression changed to normal, and she snorted, "Oh, what a joke. Innocent! There isn't enough money in the world that would make me conform to society, Phantom. And I have no intentions of being a _normal_ girl. Get used to it."

She leapt from the swing and tossed another high and mighty look over her shoulder. "Well?" she demanded. "Are you coming or not?"

Gritting his teeth he followed her inside, relieved when it appeared no one else was immediately around. "I need to change," he muttered at her, then tore up the stairs to his room. He changed clothes, masks, and hairpieces, wearing the black half mask instead of the wet white one or the black domino.

Lily merely stared at him when he came back downstairs, although thankfully she did not comment. Too many more words with her, and he would be riding back to Henri's cottage in the middle of the rainstorm, and it sounded as if it were getting worse, not better.

"Papa wants to see you," she said primly.

Erik's eyebrow rose, "Am I being summoned?"

"No," Lily said, "I'm merely saying he wants to see you. He hasn't asked, but a good daughter knows when her father is distraught."

She linked her arm through his and pulled him into the parlor. Erik didn't pull away from her this time, although it felt as if his insides were being prodded with a hot iron. Human contact had been foreign to him so long, he wondered if he would ever, or even want to get used to it.

"After all," she continued cheerfully, "it isn't every day you talk yourself out of strangling a woman."

Erik heard her, but assumed she was speaking in some sort of code...or was just being a female in general.

"Are you listening to me?" she demanded. "Well what did I say?" she asked, when he nodded his head.

"Something about strangling a woman."

Lily rolled her eyes in exasperation. He was just like her father. She couldn't even shock him...or maybe she could...

"Guinevere Allard."

_She could! She could!_ His head whipped around so fast she thought she heard his neck crack, and anger flared quite clearly in his eyes.

"I trust you will explain yourself," he said coldly.

"Papa had his hands around her throat," she said with glee, "and-"

"Lilian!"

She broke off abruptly and turned to face her father. "What?"

"That trip back to England is still being debated," Colin said curtly. "I'm not giving any more warnings to you."

"I'm a grown woman!" she exclaimed, stepping away from her brother.

"You are unmarried, and still my daughter," he said swiftly, glancing at Erik for a moment. "And you still live in my house, the most important factor of all."

She turned a lovely shade of purple when she was angry, but unlike most females, she did not stomp off to her bedroom. And since her father did not order her there, she stayed defiantly, waiting for him to do so.

He didn't. Colin looked at Erik then crossed the room and held something out to him. "Your score, I believe," he said softly.

Erik looked down at the black leather case, and reached for it slowly. He opened it and glanced inside...Don Juan was inside The original. "The Persian...?" he whispered.

"He offered condolences for my recent loss," Colin said quietly. "And reminded me that Paris has enough ghosts, and the theater no longer needs one."

Erik shot a hard look at Lily. "What she said...?"

"About Madame Allard?" Colin asked, immediately looking away. "She thought it might be fun to come to our hotel room. She quickly found out that it isn't wise to provoke me. I thought she might have learned her lesson last time, but it appears she needed another reminder."

"Did you hurt her?" Erik asked softly.

"I believe I did," Colin replied quietly. "But probably not enough to matter. She knows you're here, so I advise you to watch your back."

He snorted, "I don't have to protect myself from a woman. Especially that one. I came so close to killing her in the theater so many times, she probably became used to feeling the hatred burning off of me."

Colin's eyes widened. "You didn't kill her after what she did to you?"

"Obviously not," he replied sarcastically.

"Why? You've made it perfectly clear..."

"That I'm not affected by taking lives?" he muttered, looking at Lily for a second. "I assure you, monsieur, if you've never taken one, you would never understand," he shrugged. "Besides being a woman, she is Susanna's mother...Derrik's mother. I don't think I would ever have the stomach for it."

Colin nodded hesitantly. He thought he understood...the mother of his two childhood friends. There was something inside of him that wouldn't allow him to cross that boundary. But with the sinking feeling he'd had since he left Paris, he couldn't help but wish he had done the job himself. He repeated his warning to Erik, hoping he would take it to heart.

"Don't worry about me," he said softly, then opened his coat slightly to reveal a strange looking rope. "I'm never unprepared for a fight."

In a split second the object was in his fingers, sailing out over the head of an unsuspecting statue. With a firm tug, the object was across the room and in Erik's hands. He released the mechanism and tossed the statue, still complete, towards Colin.

"I never miss," he smiled slightly, "although it has been awhile since I've had to use it."

"What is that?" Lily demanded, moving forward to look at it.

"This is a death dealer, mademoiselle," he said, but tucked the weapon away. He looked at Colin steadily, "This is the reason I've tried to warn you away from me. My past is colorful, to say the least."

He saw his father's eyes flicker momentarily, and he revealed far more in that one look than he intended to. "I know," he whispered softly, looking back at Erik in acute misery. "I know everything."

Erik's jaw tightened visibly, and anger, mixed with shame burned in his eyes. "The Persian?" he growled, "He told you everything, did he?"

Colin nodded, "I asked."

And there was much the Persian could have told him. He'd never tried to hide his past from that man. Especially while he'd been in Persia. He'd needed someone to talk to...someone who wasn't surrounded by death and madness. Who wasn't depraved and who didn't gloat over the dead bodies of the prisoners, or the wounded ones who hadn't died as quickly.

Those were the worst.

So he had shared his life with the Persian...and along the way they had respected one another, even if they still feared one another. Daroga worried that Erik would kill him...Erik worried that Daroga would betray him. Miraculously, neither one occurred, although _this _felt like betrayal. _Paris_ had felt like betrayal...except Erik had clearly been in the wrong where Christine was concerned.

He continued to stare at his father, unable to determine what he was thinking. Probably the worst, to say the least. "I can't blame you-"

"No," Colin said softly. "I'm not judging you. I still want...," he broke off when Erik began to look angry, but he pressed on, determined to say it. "I still want what I tried to do twenty four years ago. I still want to be your father."


	45. The Vixen Who Plots, Gets What She Wants

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna guided the cart steadily on the road, walking at a dull plodding pace to the village. If it hadn't rained the night before, she would have already been there, but she had just passed the church, and the village was only a dim speck on the horizon. And if it hadn't been for Jackson coming by this morning, she might have never known his family was back, because Erik certainly hadn't bothered to tell her. He had said he would come back, but she hadn't seen him. And his father was back in the Talbot residence, and he had not come to stay with them.

Foolishly, she hoped he had not changed his mind about it. Like an evil, plotting vixen, she had left the house late enough that she could possibly see him before she left the village. Only she had not expected it to be quite so muddy, and Daniel and Elisabeth had gotten bored after the first hour. They were well into hour two, and she admitted she should have just turned back.

Instead she continued, hoping her father wouldn't be worried about her, and that she hadn't risked her neck for nothing. The vague errand of being out of groceries had quelled his protests for her to remain at home, and the offer that she take the children had sent him nearly running to assist her in harnessing the horse to the cart.

"How much farther, Mama?" Daniel sighed.

She glanced back at him and Elisabeth, sitting more comfortably than she was on a pile of blankets. "Soon, sweetheart. Very soon."

The horse continued on, his slow pace exasperating her, but at least he was safe. And eventually they made it into the village. Not wanting to seem to obvious, she bought her groceries first, holding Elisabeth to her hip as she talked to the clerk, and keeping an eye on Daniel as he greedily looked at candy.

"Not today," she said firmly when he reached for a chocolate bar.

"Aw, Mama!"

"Daniel."

The word ceased his further rants, but then she heard laughter behind her. "She isn't fair is she?"

"No, Monsieur Vallee," Daniel huffed.

She turned to look at them both, "Don't encourage him," she said sternly, but with a hint of a smile in her eyes.

He held his hands up defensively. "I would never encourage a child to sass their parent," he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. He handed a coin to Daniel. "But I would encourage outright disobedience. Buy one for me too," he instructed the boy.

"Uh," she said, feeling stunned, "I..."

She looked at Daniel, who looked so hopeful, looking at her with Julien's pleading eyes.

"Mama?" he asked softly. "May I?"

"I suppose," she said, "but don't expect to get dessert for supper tonight."

He hesitated before moving back to the chocolate bar. "What are we having?" he asked suspiciously.

"Peach cobbler," she said gravely, knowing it was one of his favorites.

Childish indecision reigned in his eyes for several moment, but he ultimately began looking at the chocolate bar again.

"I suppose I could save you some cobbler for tomorrow," she said carelessly. "Of course, you will have to convince your Pap-paw."

"Pap-paw!" Elisabeth repeated, grinning at her mother. "Pap-paw!"

"That's right," Susanna kissed her daughter.

Daniel grasped two bars before he could change his mind, then held them out to her.

"No way, young man," she said, laughing. "Your grandfather would never forgive me if I passed up the opportunity to teach you about money. You give them to the clerk yourself, and then you must give Monseiur Vallee back his change, if there is any left."

She had seen Rand at church on Sunday, but they hadn't spoken since their walk. It was disconcerting to see him, and remember how foolishly disappointed she had been that his stolen kiss was something so vague and gentlemanly as the one he'd given to her hand.

He had known it too, and had laughed with her.

But she still had no desire to start a courtship with him. She may have wanted a kiss...but it wasn't from him.

"Have you seen the Talbot's?" he asked softly, accepting the chocolate bar from Daniel.

"I was going as soon as they load my groceries," she replied, hoping she wasn't blushing. She could feel the burn, so she knew that she probably was.

"You shouldn't have brought the cart," he said, giving her a stern look. "It could have been dangerous."

"One must eat, Rand," she replied, shooing Daniel outside of the store. "And I was careful. Now, I really must go. I want to say hello to Lily before I leave, and it will be getting dark soon."

He hesitated, "I'll come to the Talbot's with you, if you don't mind. I'd like to speak with Jackson."

"I don't think he's home," she said, a defensive look growing in her eyes.

"Then Colin," he said swiftly. "It's nothing to do with you."

She looked at him levelly, but did not reply. Turning her back, she walked down the street, allowing him to take her gelding's reins and lead the cart. By the time they made it there, Jackson and Erik were there, although Lily claimed Erik was probably in his room, sullen and being his usual self.

Jackson took Rand around to the billiards room, claiming he was ready to teach him another lesson. Their laughter could be heard echoing through the house, then the closing of the billiards doors and clack of ivory balls as they proved their manly skills to one another.

"I honestly don't know how you put up with Erik," Lily said, pulling Susanna and the children into the parlor. "He is the most stubborn, infuriating man."

"What has he done?" Susanna sighed, putting Elisabeth on the floor to roam around. Hopefully she didn't destroy anything in here, although Daniel had taken care of most of the nice stuff when he had been a baby.

"Nothing!"

Susanna laughed, "Well, if he's done nothing, then how can he be infuriating?"

Lily scowled, "That's the point! I try to needle him, and its like I'm poking at a brick wall. I'm honestly wondering if there's any more inside his head than Jackson's."

Susanna stared at her, wondering what she had been doing to him. And Erik was not a brick wall. He was an explosive keg powder of dynamite, and the fuse was already lit.

"And what is Rand Vallee doing here?" she demanded. "Jackson said he tried to steal a kiss. What was it like?"

"Lily, please," she said weakly, her mind already in a the young girl's furious tornado. She had the ability to make everyone around her confess things they did not want...and to pry into any area of their life, no matter how sacred. "It was nothing. A mere kiss on the hand, nothing more."

Lily sank back against the couch, looking at her friend speculatively. "It disappointed you, didn't it?" she said softly, then watched Susanna blush and smile furiously. "Oh, I knew it! You _wanted _him to kiss you!"

"I most certainly did_ not_," Susanna said, but her hot cheeks could not quite hide the truth...even if it was a half truth. "Lily, please! I'm not..."

She looked up at the clearing of a gentleman's throat. Erik's, if her guess was correct.

And all three of them were staring at her. Rand, Jackson, and Erik.

* * *

Erik believed he had heard their entire conversation. And if Rand and Jackson had not come out, grumbling because one of them scratched at billiards, he would have heard more. Susanna had wanted Rand to kiss her? The thought made him clench his hands in anger, and sent his heart into a maelstrom. He hadn't expected her to be here. The very last thing he had expected was to hear her laughter, and it had drawn him to the door like a moth to a flame.

And now she looked mortified beyond belief, and it served her right to be discussing the man kissing her. Not that she had any restrictions in doing so, or he had any right to censure her for it either.

But she...she wasn't his...but he very much wanted her to be.

"Monsieur Dessain!" Daniel exclaimed, and ran towards him. He thought for a moment the child would hug him, but he stopped in front of him, then began rummaging through his pockets, and lifting his arms to peer inside his sleeves.

"Daniel, what are you doing?" his mother asked, rising, and still blushing.

"I'm looking for the flowers," he said in exasperation. "They came out of here somewhere!"

Amused, Erik moved forward for a moment, and stole something equally interesting.

"I'm sorry," he said, kneeling in front of him. "No flowers today...but I do have Jackson's wallet. Alas, it is empty," he made an exaggerated show of emptying the contents onto the floor.

"Hey...empty!" Jackson protested, looking at Daniel who was inspecting the wallet. "It wasn't empty!"

"It is now," Erik said, grinning at Daniel. "Give Jackson back his wallet, and instruct him that the back pocket of his trousers is not the best place for safekeeping of his money."

He stood and handed Jackson his money, and watched his brother count it.

"What?" he asked innocently. "Don't you trust me?"

"Not as far as I could throw you," Jackson muttered, taking the wallet from Daniel and replacing it all inside his coat pocket. "Is this safer?" he asked mockingly.

"A little," Erik conceded.

He met Susanna's eyes for a moment, finding her still looking very embarrassed, and not looking at Rand Vallee at all. Angry did not describe what he felt at that little revelation.

"Shouldn't you be getting back home?" he asked crisply, seeing her eyes widen at his not so pleasant question.

"I should," she murmured. "Yes...I should. Excuse me," she whispered, picking Elisabeth up from the floor. "I...it really was nice to see you, Lily. I'll have to come another time when the roads aren't so muddy. And you, Jackson, you're welcome to come by the house anytime."

She didn't invite either of the two men who were watching her with frustration.

"I'll escort you home, Susanna," Rand offered suddenly.

"Oh...no," she looked baffled and frightened at the idea. "No..._no_."

"It will be dark soon, and that horse moves intolerably slow with the cart," he reminded her.

And still she shook her head, pulling Daniel away from Erik and towards the door. Erik was glaring at her again, and the idea that she'd done something to offend him struck her. What had she done? Had she said anything to Lily that he had over heard...other than the kiss...which he wouldn't be interested in.

"I'll take you," Erik said quietly, his voice leaving no room for objection. "I'll hitch my stallion to your cart, and he will get us there twice as fast."


	46. Maelstrom

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna and the children waited inside as he switched the indignant Cesar to the cart, and placed his own saddle on Susanna's gelding. The expensive saddle looked ridiculous on the nag, but he suspected that the horse didn't care one way or another, as long as he was returned to his stable.

Rand and Jackson followed him outside, and he could feel their curious eyes as he jerkily tied the gelding to the back of the cart.

"What?" he demanded, glaring at both of them.

"You've changed your mind, haven't you?" Rand asked softly. "About Susanna. Or perhaps you always felt this way about her."

"I'd say that's the one," Jackson laughed. "Definitely the second option."

Erik turned and finished tying the horse, then rechecked the harness. "I have no feelings one way or another," he said stiffly, feeling the burn of embarrassment and shame. Now he knew how Susanna had felt earlier. But he would not tarnish her reputation...he would not ruin her by making some bold declaration on her.

It was pointless. It always had been.

He turned and looked at Jackson, daring him to say another word. Wisely, he did not, although if it had been Lily, he would have been in a great deal of trouble.

"Well, I have to go," Rand said, beginning to look glum, "Keep her and the children safe, and yourself as well."

Erik watched him leave, then swung his gaze back to Jackson. "I'm not making a claim on her. Stop insinuating otherwise."

"Why?" Jackson prodded. "She's beautiful...she's smart. Her children are nice. And most of all, she loves you."

"Stop!" Erik spat the word at him. "_No_. She does _not_."

"There are different kinds of love," Jackson said, his voice irritatingly kind. "It isn't all romantic love. And who's to say it couldn't be?"

Furious, Erik stormed away from him and into the house. Lily and Susanna stared at him as he stomped past them and up the stairs. He had to get away from those two...Jackson and Lily...

The alternative was no better. Living with Susanna would be a nightmare. A torture he wasn't sure he could withstand. But he wanted it...he would take it. This time, he would take it, and allow her sweet face to grace his dreams. He would hear her voice as she sang to her children. Eat her food. Accept her chaste touch. He would take whatever scrap she gave him, and she would never know she fed a starving man.

Packing his things into a bag, he didn't notice his father standing in the doorway, listening to him mutter to himself.

"An idiot. A bloody idiot. There's nothing for you, Phantom. No woman will _ever.._...you will never...be loved."

He pulled the domino mask he'd just placed inside back out, gripping it tightly. In sudden rage he snapped the leather into two pieces, throwing them across the room.

Colin stepped back, hearing him continue talking, and moved down the hall. Tears fell from his eyes as he wallowed in his failure. He'd failed Erik. His son. All these years he had tried so hard to find him...to rescue him. It had been met with absolute failure. And Erik had become a broken man, destroyed beyond what he had imagined. Hopefully not beyond repair...but the damage was substantial.

"You aren't a monster," Colin whispered from the shadows, watching as Erik strode out of his room and down the stairs. "You are loved, my son. You have always been loved."

* * *

Susanna stared at the glowering man coming down the stairs. He was beyond angry as he came down...even Daniel stepped back behind her skirts. The movement annoyed him further, and he went outside, snapping for them all to follow, or be left behind.

Jackson shrugged at her, then tossed her up into the cart, handing her Elisabeth. There was no room for two people on the spring bench, so she settled back against the sides of the cart, holding onto Elisabeth, and gripping Daniel as they surged forward.

She watched Erik's back as he controlled the black stallion, easily maneuvering him onto the road at a brisk pace. The cart slid occasionally, but he seemed to find the right places to avoid, and in silence they were carried home. By the time they arrived, which was considerably less than it had taken her to get there, Elisabeth was asleep, and Daniel had been close.

Erik pulled the cart around, his face still strained with anger, though not as severe. His eyes were distant, but he didn't look at her in any case.

"I'll unload the groceries," he said unemotionally. "You tend to the children."

He did not offer to help her down, as his brother no doubt would have, and loaded his arms with two wooden crates filled with supplies. If she had slipped in the mud, he might have helped her to her feet, but she didn't need his assistance, and he wasn't going to give it.

She made it down and took Elisabeth in the house, hearing her father muttering something about how she hadn't needed an escort to town before, and now suddenly she had one all the time.

"Is there a problem?" Erik asked sharply, looking at Henri.

"No," Henri said quickly, regretting his words.

Erik grunted, his eyes looking suddenly wounded and hurt, then went to unhitch the stallion. He stayed in the stable, finding innumerable, pointless things to do.

Then he found his saddle.

From his old horse, and Derrik's saddle...and his mother's. All three of them, still in perfect condition, sitting inside the tack room. Touching the leather reverently, feeling the softness, the ageless beauty. They were not quality saddles, but they were made to last. Tears welled in his eyes, and inside his throat, choking off all his anger and giving another outlet to his pain.

Erik had never allowed himself to grieve for Derrik. Or for the boy he had been. His mother...that had come in time, although it was still painful to think about her. He hadn't been able to shut her out the way he had everything else. All three of them had been destroyed, in different ways. He was the only one left.

Lifting the leather from the rail, he pressed his face against the pommel, wishing...wishing...

He had felt this material against his skin for so long. Just once he wanted to feel her hand against his face again. His Maman's soft hand...see her sweet and loving smile. Feel her lips against his forehead, on his cheek. She had _loved _him. The only one...the only one who had loved him, and she was _gone_ forever.

Suddenly he could not stop the tears. Not anger, not pain. _Grief _surged through him like a tide, overwhelming and overshadowing all else, except the painful love he still felt for her. He could have done so many things to save her...he could have become something in her honor...written her more than a bloody requiem. His opera should have been dedicated in her memory...written as a tragedy for the connection lost, and not the love he had never experienced with a woman.

Erik gripped the saddle, burying the tree against his chest and holding it tightly around him. There were so few things he had left of hers. So little...and he wanted so much more. Coming here had opened a floodgate inside, and he could see no end to the steady wave of emotion and desires that had forced his eyes open. They were held open in a torturous fashion, as he watched the people around him living their lives...and as usual he did not allow himself to join.

On the outside...always looking in.

He wanted more...God, how he wanted more.

* * *

Susanna put the dishes away for supper, wondering where Erik had gone. She kept a plate for him, wondering if he had changed his mind about staying, but when she had stepped outside, she could see Cesar clearly in the paddock. Assuming he had gone to the house they were building, she didn't try to find him. She didn't want to see that house. Especially now that Jackson said the windows would be ready soon. She never wanted to see it again once it was built.

When Erik came through the door, she was already on her way to bed. Looking at him, though, she saw immediately that he'd been crying. He stared at her stonily for several moments, then looked at the food with disinterest.

"I apologize if I've offended you," she said softly. "I'm...I'm not sure if I have or not, but-"

"You haven't," he interrupted, although he didn't explain why he was so upset.

She could see his face was pale, even against the mask he was white faced. His lips were thin and drawn tight, his eyes reddened and swollen. If it weren't for the way his jaw was clenched, she was certain he would be shaking all over.

"Erik," she whispered, stepping towards him. "I...I don't know what's wrong. Tell me how I can help you."

A look of terror passed through his eyes, and he stepped around her towards his room. "No," he said, moving backwards down the hallway.

She followed him, glancing at her father's door, which was closed, and his room was dark. "I want to talk to you," she whispered, moving forward even as he stepped backwards, shaking his head at her.

Erik opened the door and stepped inside his room, trying to close it on her, but she pushed against it, lifting her chin defiantly and placing her arm behind the door to touch his hand.

He could not slam it closed and hurt her. Blowing a harsh spell of air through his mouth, he stepped back and allowed her inside.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly, looking at the floor, at the wall, anywhere but her.

"I want to know what's wrong," she said softly, closing the door behind her.

The soft click made his head jerk up, and he felt heat and ice spear through him. "Nothing."

"Don't lie to me."

He shot daggers at her with his eyes, green and livid in the soft glow of the room.

"Perhaps it's none of your concern," he said coldly, baring his teeth at her with a cruel smile. "I'm not interested in sharing with you. Get out."

She continued to look at him, seeing anger in every line of his face...and fear in his eyes. He was frightened...of what? Of her?

"Is it because...did you hear something at Lily's earlier?"

He flinched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. She was torturing him. She was going to kill him with her kindness...with her sweet blue eyes, with her soft and sweet voice. He longed for her to finish him...to put him out of his misery. Tonight had been one of the worst nights of his life...he'd broken through his own defenses, and allowed himself to want Susanna...allowed himself to grieve for his mother. He'd become no better than he was in the theater, trying to earn the attention of a beautiful woman who was only capable of feeling pity for him.

And he wanted to know...he wanted to know right now if that was what she felt for him. Because the way she was looking at him was going to haunt him forever.

"You were disappointed?" he whispered, choking on the words, and on the knowledge of what path they sent him hurtling down. "He didn't k-kiss you," he said, his voice so low and rough he barely heard himself speak.

Susanna watched him shake. He had started as soon as she'd shut the door...and now he was asking this question. _This question_, that had embarrassed her so badly earlier. Now the question sent hot fire through her, at the hesitant way he asked it. And the fact that he was actually asking it.

"Yes," she managed to say back, although the weight of what she was about to say was devastatingly heavy. But she wanted it. If it would lead to him..._yes_...she wanted it. "But not...not because...because _he_ didn't do it."

He lifted his head, looking at her in icy, frustrated desire.

"Your husband?" he rasped out, and watched as she shook her head slowly.

"Erik."

Then suddenly she watched him spring towards her, a leap of life on his face, and in his eyes. She fell against the door in shock, in anticipation. He was going to do it, she thought. He was going to kiss her.

And then he did.


	47. The Kiss

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

The way Erik had pounced on her, she had expected a brutal, mind numbing kiss. She had expected...and wanted...him to put his hands on her, gripping her tightly and pressing his body against hers.

Instead, a half second before their lips had met, he had put his arms above her head, his fists digging into the wood, his forearms pressing tightly on either side of her face.

Only his lips touched hers, and it was not the rough and wanton way that she had expected. He was gentle, hesitant...almost too hesitant. Her eyes opened to see his shut tightly, his face having a pinched, pained look, which explained why his mouth felt so hard beneath hers.

He broke away from her, his eyes opening slowly with heavy lidded desire, looking into hers with unmistakable passion. His breath hit her lips, a harsh, trembling exhale that was hot against her skin and sent flames swirling from her mouth to her toes.

"Susanna," he whispered, his eyes lowering again to her mouth. He swallowed hard suddenly, his tongue coming out and licking his lips. He looked back at her, his eyes filled with sudden confusion. "Susanna."

The way Erik said her name caused another shaft of pleasure to shoot through her. Had anyone ever said her name like that? She didn't think so. No one had ever looked at her in such tortured and pained lust and want. And he _wanted_ her. She could see it in his eyes, could hear it in the rolling, harsh breathing that roared against her face.

"Erik," she whispered back, searching his eyes, his face. Taking in the mask with a sudden fascination that she didn't understand. It excited her. She couldn't explain how or why, but the mask itself was a part of his dark, mysterious aura. The Erik she had known was gone, and in his place was this half devil, half angel. A man who suppressed all his wants and desires, and was afraid to take what was being offered.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, but kissed her again. Still not the kiss she expected. His lips were open, but he didn't explore her mouth with his tongue. She was afraid to give him hers, afraid he would think she was mad, although Julien had assured her that it was perfectly normal. "I'm sorry, Susanna. Forgive me," he pleaded with her, but he didn't pull away.

He couldn't.

She was warm..._no_...she was _hot_ beneath him. He wasn't touching her, but she burned him in a different way. A subliminal message that whispered erotic words to him, that her body sent to his, and he was sure he was sending back. He shouldn't have done this, was all he could think. He should not be doing this with her...but it felt far to heavenly to stop. And still he whispered barely audible apologies against her mouth, alternating between kisses and words.

"Don't apologize," she finally whispered to him, and realized that his hands weren't the only ones pressed against the door. She lifted hers out to touch the spread of his ribs inside his coat, pulling the fabric away and touching his warm, male body. He was very wide throughout his chest. She could feel how solid he was...how wonderfully made he was. She wanted to see it again, as she had the day he'd come out of the bathroom with no shirt.

He jumped as he felt her hands on his chest, and suddenly reality crashed around him. He was not Erik, the boy who had known her. He was Erik, the Phantom, and he had forgotten. And quite clearly he could see Christine's face, as she told Raoul de Chagny that she loved him, and set him free with her kiss.

She began to slide her hands around his back, and pull him closer, then suddenly he was standing on the opposite side of the room, not facing her. The loss of his touch and of the desire left her feeling cold and aching.

"Erik?" she asked softly, still leaning in a daze against the door.

"I...I shouldn't have done that," he muttered, trying to stop the flow of blood from his brain into his increasingly growing trousers. He couldn't even manage to look at her. She would see...and then she would undoubtedly laugh. "Go to bed, Susanna. You got your kiss. Now, just go to bed."

"I don't want to," she whispered, seeing him glare at her over his shoulder.

"_Think_ about your children," he hissed at her. "And your_ father_ sleeping down the hall. Leave. Now."

And her fantasy lifted suddenly, the veil leaving, and putting a cold truth in front of her. She was not a young girl any longer. And he was not a young man. They were both adults, both had different lives, and he would not want to burden himself with her children. He couldn't even stand her touch...how would he withstand theirs? He was learning...slowly...but how could he manage to change so much? Or would he ever? She had to think about her children, and also her father.

Then there was her mother. She would not want to become like Guinevere Allard. Nothing was more degrading and shameful than having a mother with no morals. She would not be a disgrace to her children, or Julien's memory, by throwing herself at a man who didn't want her. Or at any man.

Blindly she reached for the door, seeing his face turn sharply as she did. All she could see was the mask, and it seemed to mock her as she stepped out into the hall and shut the door. Her father's light was still out...her daughter still sleeping peacefully.

But Susanna lay awake for a very long time. So long she actually heard him when he left the house, and swore she heard the thundering of hooves in the midnight air. It was nothing though, to the pounding heart that beat within her chest, or the knots tightening inside her body as she remembered the look in his eyes, the way he had smelled. The way he had tasted. Her first kiss since Julien...and she still couldn't help but want more.

* * *

A short chapter...but I couldn't leave you hanging all night. Hope you liked it. Sorry, but I'm going to a party tonight, so I may not update until tomorrow. I'll try to work on my sequel as well. 


	48. Siren of Love

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

He wouldn't be a coward. He decided to drag himself from bed and face her, instead of sneaking out into the morning light with no breakfast like a punished child. She had come into _his_ room. She had pushed...she had wanted it...God knows why.

So he would not be a coward and not face her.

Yet as Erik entered the kitchen, he found himself looking at Henri, and suddenly the angry confidence he had vanished. The old man knew. He _knew. _Susanna had not made an appearance yet, and he sat down across from him, meeting his eyes the best he could. How could he look into his eyes when he'd nearly defiled his daughter last night...under his own roof, when he had promised the man that he would not pursue her?

"You can relax," Henri said softly. "My ears are good. I know that she wasn't in there _that_ long."

Erik closed his eyes, relieved that at least he still trusted him...or that he hadn't damaged it too badly. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I swear. I had..._have_ no intentions of destroying her reputation. I'll gather my things. You don't have to ask. I'll just go."

Erik slid his chair back, and started to rise.

_"Sit_ down, Erik."

He glanced up at Henri, startled at the quiet command. "Sir?"

"Do you have feelings for her, Erik?" Henri asked, his tone softening. "Or do you feel things because she is the first woman to treat you with respect, and love you, and not judge you for your appearance, and your past? If you have _true_ feelings for her, then I will consider you suitable for her, provided you have told her everything, and she trusts you. Also provided that you will not ever harm her, or anyone else for that matter."

Erik stared at him, baffled at the man's words. He was considered _suitable_? For Susanna? He shook his head vehemently. "I'm not good enough for her, Henri. I'll never be good enough for her, or anyone else."

"Your mother would not have agreed," he said gently, seeing the confusion on Erik's face. "She always thought you two would be perfect for one another. It was mentioned on more than one occasion, that she considered Susanna her future daughter-in-law," he leaned forward and placed his hand across Erik's arm, "and I have always considered you a second son. No matter what you've done, no matter who your real father is, you were always here with Derrik and Susanna, and I love you as much as I love my other two children."

"I...," Erik looked away, overcome with emotion. With things he had not felt for someone before. Not even toward Colin. Yes, he loved this man as a father. But this was Derrik's father. Susanna's father. He'd always been jealous of Derrik for having this man, and had never realized that he'd had him as well. All the extra hours he had spent teaching him about architecture. The books he'd given him...special lessons he'd made just for him. Henri wanted him to pursue it, because he had known his own son would not. Derrik had never had the chance, and Erik had blown his.

Henri watched him struggle, indecision reigning in his eyes. He had to be suitable for Susanna. If he was this conscientious about her welfare now...he would only be more so if they were in a proper courtship. And a marriage. It was time to let her go again, and releasing her to Erik had always been his first choice. He had not liked Julien Croix after he had found out about his wife's occupation, and connection with the young doctor. No amount of apologies in the world would change his opinion. But maybe he had always selfishly held out hope that this one would return and take her.

Except when he had returned...it had not been the man he had expected and wanted. He was a wounded, angry man. Bitter and full of pain and rage. He hoped he never see again the look in Erik's eyes he had first shown when they had gone to the inn.

"Friendship and courtship, Erik," Henri said kindly. "Nothing more, unless you both desire it. And there doesn't have to be pressure on you. You don't have to tell Susanna she is being courted if you would like to keep it to yourself. I want you to respect her, and remember she is a mother. She will still be a mother if things do not work out. If you have the desire to give yourself one more chance on love, I think this is the one to take. My daughter loves you already, as a friend. Very little encouragement would be needed to change that into the sort of commitment you have always wanted. And I know that despite what you have told yourself, it is something you want, and something you can have."

He opened his mouth to say something. To refuse again, to snap in anger that no woman loved him, to scream that he was not worthy of his approval, or his daughter. And he was not and never would be a father.

Then suddenly he was descended on by the three people he most wished to avoid. Daniel, who ran into the room struggling with Elisabeth, and Susanna, who was still pinning her hair up as she came out of her room. Daniel, who usually climbed into his grandfather's lap, put Elisabeth there instead, and turned to him, holding his arms up in childish demand.

"You want to sit in my lap?" Erik asked, astonished.

Daniel nodded his head, "I want you to show me the flowers again."

He looked up at Henri, who was watching with a smile. He sensed Susanna watching as he picked the boy up and placed him on the end of his leg.

"I...," he cleared his throat suddenly, looking Daniel with growing amusement. "I don't have any flowers today. I'll make sure I...obtain some later. Will that satisfy you?"

Daniel pursed his lips a moment, then nodded. "Are you going to work today?"

"I am."

"Can I help you?" Daniel questioned, looking at him with pleading eyes.

He looked up at Susanna then, who was still watching the exchange with a stunned look on her face. He received a jolt as he met her eyes, and knew she felt it as well. The memory of their kiss last night was still very much on his mind. He'd been up all night thinking about it...and the other things he wanted, and had not had the courage to take. His eyes drifted down to her mouth for a moment, and he watched a lovely blush dash right across her cheeks, and along the bridge of her nose. If her ears had been visible beneath the blond curls, he was sure they would be red as well.

"Please?"

Daniel was waiting expectantly for an answer. He'd never had a child on a building site before, although the workers in Persia had not been much older than this one. "If your mother does not mind, you may come for a couple of hours. You may hand me things when I ask for them. Is that a task you think you can handle?"

"Mama?" Daniel looked at her, the same look on his face.

"I don't mind," she whispered softly, "as long as you are not a hindrance. And Erik, you must bring him back when you tire of him."

"I shouldn't think a child could tire me," he said, then received a wry smile from her, and a chuckle from Henri.

"Then if you can't be tired, you should take them both," Henri laughed.

"Daniel, you need to sit in your own chair for breakfast," she said, giving her son the seat next to Erik's. He scrambled from Erik's lap and into his own chair, grinning because he'd be able to go spend time with him later. She hoped he knew how energetic an eight year old boy could be.

Susanna turned away and began preparing the rest of their breakfasts, her breathing irregular as she felt Erik's eyes on her the entire time. She hadn't expected him to come back. She had thought he would ride straight to the Talbot's and avoid her for the rest of the summer after her boldness last night. He probably thought she was just like her mother by now, after the way she had behaved. Being kissed by Rand only a few days ago, then asking...or rather telling him that she wanted him to kiss her as well.

If he only knew that she had been disappointed by his as well.

Not that it hadn't been wonderful...her senses had been more alive than ever when he'd been that close to her. She'd tasted him...but she'd wanted more of him. She'd wanted to push him back onto the bed, and run her lips and mouth over every part of his body. She'd wanted to lay beneath him, feel his weight over hers, and his tongue against her skin.

That sweet, innocent kiss had only fanned her flames of desire. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself that she should act responsible...be mature and wise, and not act foolishly, she couldn't help but want all those things from him. Her passion had awoken, and by a man she hadn't thought could bring those things to life in her. Every time she had touched him, she had felt him freeze, felt him pull away. The question had hummed in her mind...but now she knew. She knew how alive his green eyes could become when he was kissing her. How hard it was for him to breath when he was close to her.

It wasn't coldness he felt. But he was frightened of her. He was afraid of her touch, and afraid to touch her.

Setting a plate in front of him, she proved her own theory. She slid her arm around his back, and once again he was tense. His hands curled up tightly, and he didn't look at her as he murmured a stiff gratitude. Her father was watching as well, and she moved her hand when he gave her a stern look.

She finished preparing their breakfasts, and sat across from Erik, meeting his eyes occasionally with a smile. He didn't return it, and his eyes immediately moved back to his plate when she would finally get him to look at her.

Eventually her father gave her another fierce look, and she stopped her games, wondering why Erik had suddenly started scowling, and her father was in a relatively amiable mood, except that he didn't want her pestering the man.

Elisabeth happily chewed her eggs, ignoring them all.

"Is the boy ready?" Erik finally asked, wiping his mouth and standing up. "I'll bring him home just before noon, if that is alright with you."

"That's acceptable," she said, trying once again to get him to look at her. She was beginning to feel annoyed that he wouldn't. If he did think she was a loose woman, he'd better say so now, so she could set him straight. "Daniel, go get changed into some other clothes. Make sure you don't choose anything for school or church."

He leapt up and down the hall, giving a war whoop as he slammed his bedroom door. She couldn't help but feel a little sorry for Erik for agreeing to something she wasn't sure he was prepared to handle. Her boy could be a handful, as most of them could be.

"Will you stay for lunch?" she asked Erik.

He looked at her father first, then back at her. "If that is your wish. I don't want to trouble you."

"It's no trouble," Susanna said, hoping that she didn't sound as if she were offering anything else. She had told Rand Vallee she wasn't interested in courtship...told herself the very same thing repeatedly since he had begun pursuing her...and she still wasn't sure what she wanted with Erik.

Except for the obvious. Hadn't Jackson mentioned something about exotic women?

He inclined his head to her, then moved towards the door, eager to be away from the strange sensations he felt when she looked into his eyes. It had not been enough to ride Cesar hell bent down the road last night. Not enough to jump into the lake at one in the morning to swim his frustrations away. Nothing had worked, and he'd returned as wound up as when she'd finally left his room last night.

He was grateful when Daniel emerged, and he could get outside into the bright morning light. He could answer the child's incessant questions, and not think too hard about the answers. But he would work all morning, and still have to face her again.

The Siren that had called him home had not told him what turmoil awaited his return. She had not told him he would find himself beginning to fall foolishly in love.


	49. Rhythm of Butterflies

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna answered the door to find Colin and Lily standing in the morning sunshine. Lily smiling, Colin looking perpetually grim.

"Is Henri in?" Colin asked, looking as if he'd not had any more sleep than she had. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair unkempt, although that wasn't particularly unusual.

"Of course," she stepped aside and let them past her. "He's in the library. I believe you know the way."

Juggling Elisabeth, she looked over her shoulder at Lily, "I have to lay her down. Do you want to come with me while I rock her to sleep?"

"I'll do it, if you don't mind," Lily smiled shyly and took the baby. Elisabeth stared at her with indifference, knowing what time of day it was, and unwilling to sacrifice her nap time by crying because a stranger was holding her. "I hope I have one just like her one day."

They heard Colin grunt behind them, and saw a scowl on his face before he stepped into the library. Laughing, they went to the bedroom and Lily sat in the rocking chair with the baby across her shoulder. Susanna watched with a smile as Lily rubbed her back and began to rock her. As usual, it didn't take long for her eyes to grow heavy.

"Are there no other suitors for you, Lily?" Susanna asked softly.

"No," Lily said flatly, frowning at her friend. "I don't want one either."

Susanna smiled, "It's hard to have a baby without a suitor, Lily. You shouldn't give up on love yet. You're too young."

She snorted. "Love does not exist. It's a fairy tale, or for sweet ladies like yourself. I'm not falling for that load of horse apples again."

She would not believe that after losing her heart...and innocence to a man who told her he loved her, had made an offer for her, talked things through with her father, then announced his betrothal to another woman. On the night he was supposed to announce their betrothal, Duncan Pierce had kissed Miriam Cooper in front of his family, their mutual friends, and her parents and Jackson, then told them all he was marrying Miss Cooper.

And seven months later...a little Pierce was born in London. Lily and Duncan had been betrothed for more than a year...and intimate once during that time. Before _Miss Cooper_ ever entered the picture.

"You can't let that destroy your chance for happiness," Susanna said gently. "Not all men are like that."

Lily's eyes flashed as she stood with the sleeping baby. Moving her into her cradle gently, she extricated her arms from the girl. "Most men, Susanna, are exactly like Duncan. Your own husband deceived you, and never would have told you the truth if your mother hadn't. I don't trust men. You wouldn't either, if you knew what was good for you."

Tossing her head, she left the room, blinking back tears she would not allow anyone to see. It did not take long for her to control them, it never did. No man was worth crying over. Not ever again. Stopping outside the doors of the library, she paused to get rid of evidence of her weakness. Her hand was on the knob when she heard Henri saying something.

"Yes. Susanna was in there last night, but I know nothing happened. Erik himself told me...," he paused for so long she thought he might not continue, "...he's never been intimate with a woman."

"What!" her father exclaimed. "My God, no wonder he's so bloody frustrated."

She nearly laughed, until she noticed Susanna behind her, eyes wide as she listened as well.

"You know he cannot stay here any longer. I never thought when I invited him that he would even consider Susanna...or she him. I had hoped, long ago, but when he arrived so angry and bitter, I really didn't think it possible."

"Well, I came out here because I am concerned about him. I heard him talking to himself yesterday before he left, saying such awful things about himself. And repeating that soprano's name like a mantra. He doesn't think a woman will ever love him. Called himself a monster, evil, and...and he was not flattering his physical appearance. He didn't see me, and I was afraid to say anything to him," Colin said, sounding incredibly upset. "I failed, Henri. I can't imagine being able to reach him now. He has been civil to me, but we aren't friendly by any means. And after what I witnessed inside that cave he called a home below the theater...in the fifth cellar, Henri! Five floors below the earth, in the bowels of the opera house."

"Wasn't that a little cold?" Henri asked mildly.

"Cold does not describe it. Surrounded by water, obsessive drawings of that soprano everywhere...and he...he had a coffin in his home," Colin said quietly. "A _coffin_, Henri, and I'm certain it was where he was sleeping."

Susanna looked at Lily, tears springing into her eyes. "Is that true?" she whispered.

Lily nodded hesitantly. "It was very strange. Odd things everywhere...although, it was beautiful in its own way. He really did live down there. He really was the Phantom. It never sank in until I saw his home."

Susanna stared at the floor, uncertain what to think...what to feel. A coffin? Erik had slept in a coffin?

"What were you doing in his room?" Lily asked softly, then watched Susanna's face turn red.

"I wanted to speak with him," Susanna said, straining to keep her voice down. She held a finger over her lips, partly to listen for more conversation, and partly to keep Lily from asking anymore questions.

"And I think Guinevere will retaliate, Henri," Colin was saying. "I choked her pretty hard, and I'm sorry, but I still wish I had finished what I started."

Henri said nothing for several moments then, "She always thought I was Erik's father. I don't know why it bothered her, to tell you the truth, because she isn't capable of loving anyone. She's wired all wrong, and it took me a very long time to realize it. After Derrik died, she dropped all pretenses of being a wife and mother. She was distraught over his death for all of a week, then once Erik was gone for a few days, she was back to normal."

"I want him to be happy," Colin said softly. "If you think that he and Susanna are...are thinking that way...then I hope it works out. But if she isn't, and he is...I don't think he can withstand anymore. He can't take anymore disappointment in his life. This Christine girl did a number on him, according to his Persian friend, although he wasn't perfectly honest with her. But she removed his mask in front of the theater full of people."

"That would explain why he burned it down."

"She married the Vicomte. They haven't returned to Paris since the disaster. The Persian...he told me the girl had kissed him, and Erik just let them both go. Said he wouldn't marry a girl who only pitied him. And that was all she felt. Erik was devastated, and left Paris that night. The Persian doesn't want him to return to Paris. He doesn't want to see Erik again, but wished him well, although he never admitted to me that he believed Erik was still alive. Paris thinks the Phantom died under the theater, and as far as I'm concerned he did. I wish I could get Lily to stop calling him that, but if I said anything she would only do it more," he said, sounding annoyed.

A glance at Lily revealed not the smirk she expected, but tight lipped anger.

"I hope he didn't tell that girl he loved her," she spat. "Stupid man."

"Lily!" Susanna said, a little too loudly.

They both moved away from the library doors, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping. And just as they side stepped into the kitchen, they heard the library doors open for a moment, then close again.

Susanna stood against the counter, dazed by all that she had heard. And she had thought the Gypsy girl had been his true love. Her heart had broke for him, even though he had not told her everything, except he loved her and she had died. But to never...he'd never been intimate with a woman before? That explained why he was hesitant...but certainly not why he didn't like to be touched. Perhaps the beatings had something to do with it.

"Are you serious about my brother?" Lily demanded, interrupting her racing mind.

Susanna stared at her, uncomprehending for several moments. "Serious?" she whispered, her eyes widening. "I...I don't know. I hadn't considered..."

"Well, if you're going to break his heart, tell me now so I can save the trouble of continuing our friendship," Lily said, glaring at her.

"I thought you didn't believe in love," Susanna said faintly.

"Prove me wrong. He doesn't deserve for you to lead him on. No one does, and I'm telling you that from personal experience."

"I'm not leading him on," she protested...but knew she was lying. She had led him on, not knowing...not even thinking about how fragile their trust was. How wounded he was, and how hurt he would be if she let him believe that she was ready for commitment. She hadn't thought he was the sort of man who wanted it...she had just wanted_ him_.

"Don't feed a stray dog, and then expect it to go away," Lily said quietly. "He may be experienced as far as living goes...as far as abuse and pain...but he hasn't known kindness since he left here. If you're really his friend, you would understand that about him. Don't go sneaking into his room again, unless you're prepared to stay."

Flustered, she turned away. Her feelings were deeply hurt...she _was _his friend. She didn't want to hurt him. But she desired him as a man...and she knew he desired her as well. What it meant to her, and meant to him might be two different things.

She wasn't sure if she was ready for a replacement for Julien...not in the permanent sense...and maybe not in the physical sense either.

Erik had never made love to a woman, and his first time would probably be with a woman he spent the rest of his life with.

She felt Lily's hand on her shoulder, and brushed tears away that she hadn't known she was shedding. "I'm sorry Lily," she whispered. "I didn't think...we just..."

"You feel attracted to him, and he does you."

Susanna nodded, "I wish...I wish things were simpler. I wish I was younger...that we were both younger. I don't want to become my mother."

"You could never become her," Lily said vehemently. "Not ever. Why would you say that?"

"She's...she's a whore, Lily," Susanna whispered, brushing away more tears. "I don't...I _won't_ become like that. I don't want my children to feel ashamed because of me. But I...I _would _have done the most foolish thing in the world last night if he had not stopped, and we both would have been hurt in the process."

"Do you love him?" Lily asked quietly, then added, "Not that I believe in that sort of thing...not for me anyway...but do you love him?"

"Of course I do," Susanna said softly. "I've always loved him."

"But do you love him..._in that way_? Or do you think that you could?"

Swallowing hard, and turning around again she tried to stop the swirl of butterflies in her stomach, and the hope that was wrestling with her stubborn heart. It wouldn't be hard, she thought. When she had been younger, she had wanted to marry Erik.

Too childish to know any better, she had assumed it for a long time. Even after the fire, she had thought he would return...after all...he was Erik. Why wouldn't he?

But he never did.

Could he be a father to Elisabeth and Daniel? Last night she had not thought so, but this morning had shown her how much Erik needed to be touched...how much he wanted it, even if he tried to convince himself that he didn't. Watching Elisabeth sleep on his shoulder had been the beginning of the fantasy that had ended last night.

Perhaps she had been imagining the wrong fantasy. Perhaps it was not a temporary man in her bed she wanted after all.

Maybe, just maybe, it was Erik.

Could she ever think of him as her husband?

A million swirling butterflies convinced her to repeat the words in her mind. Erik as her husband. They all seemed to flutter around her heart, in a chaotic rhythm that sounded a lot like a yes.

* * *

Sorry I haven't updated more today. Been busy...grocery day, and I went to the gym. I have to work the next 3 days, so maybe only expect one update per day. And sorry I never got around to the sequel. I'm still trying to think of the perfect way to end it. 


	50. Possession

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Not that he was tired. Because he wasn't. Even if he was, he would never admit an eight year old had exhausted him. Not physically...but mentally he felt drained. After answering every question imaginable, from ones about the mask, to the flowers, and the occasional question about the house, Erik felt as if he'd survived another major disaster.

After Daniel asked him if the mask came off, he'd moved them both to the opposite end of the house, out of the hearing of Jackson and the rest of the crew who had suddenly stopped working to listen intently for his response. Patiently he explained that it did, but he never removed it unless he was going to bed for the night.

That had led to why...which had been followed by "Can I sleep in your room instead of Pap-paw's'? The first refusal he'd ever given a child had not gone very well, for Erik at least.

Instead of the image he had of Daniel slowly handing him each nail, or occasionally holding his hammer, the boy was more interested in asking questions. Questions Erik didn't want to hear...or answer. Somehow coming from a child they were less disconcerting, but they still caused him pain each time he was forced to say something in return.

By ten thirty the boy was beginning to look tired, and Jackson for once proved useful.

"Daniel, you know it's getting close to lunch. Why don't you take my watch," he removed it and handed it to the boy, "and tell us when it's eleven thirty? That way we won't be late. Can you do that for me? You can lay beneath the shade tree, and keep an eye out for us."

For the first fifteen minutes they were greeted to an announcement of the time at regular intervals, but soon he lay back in the grass to watch the time faithfully. Within twenty minutes he was asleep, and Erik breathed a sigh of relief.

"What were you thinking when you agreed to that?" Jackson asked with a grin. "The boy is taken with you...which means he wants to know everything about you."

"No one cared to warn me he was that talkative," Erik muttered, "and he wasn't that bad. Nothing I can't handle."

"Then he'll be coming tomorrow?" Jackson asked innocently, receiving a scowl.

"I haven't gotten a single thing done today," Erik groaned, "and if he comes tomorrow it will be much the same."

"Well that's easily solved," he grinned. "Just tell Susanna you can't handle him, and she'll be glad to break his heart for you. Mothers are like that. They always have to be the ones that say no."

"Br-break his heart?" Erik stammered. "By not bringing him back? It would break his heart?"

Jackson stared at Erik, surprised he had taken his teasing so seriously. He hadn't meant to rib him so badly, but he'd given the boy everything he asked for. Erik answered every question, no matter how personal and painful they were. "Of course not," he said softly. "Most likely he knows he can't always come. Perhaps not everyday...but it would appease him if you let him come back at least once before the house is finished."

Breathing a sigh of relief he nodded. "I can allow that. At least once, I can let him come back."

Walking towards the place where his mother's roses still grew, healthy and vibrant with their heady fragrance, he picked several and smiled wryly as Jackson watched him tuck them into his coat.

"Magic tricks, Erik?"

"It amuses him. Perhaps the only interesting thing about me, and the fact that no one else he knows wears a mask," Erik said with a sigh. "I'm glad school is out. He was determined to take me to show and tell."

Jackson looked at him strangely for several moments, his eyes on the mask, then on his hairpiece. He knew what he would ask before he opened his mouth, but it still made his stomach tighten when he heard the words.

"Is it that bad, Erik? I don't mean to pry, but surely it isn't-"

"It's bad enough," he said quietly. "Bad enough that there has only been one person in the world that could look at me without it, and still see _me_. And she died, more than twenty years ago."

Erik didn't elaborate. Discussing Mirela the with Susanna had brought him no peace. The irony of her death...she had died screaming as he was sure Derrik had. Perhaps his mother even, if Adam Dessain had not killed her first. The irony that she died, the way he should have died. With his mother and friend. It would have been a better existence than what he had experienced in the past.

But now...he closed his eyes as he recalled Susanna's lips against his. The first time he had ever kissed a woman. Christine's pitiful act of kindness didn't really count. He had kissed Susanna...out of frustration, out of desire, want. A burning need that had not yet left him. Now Henri had given his consent...but what would Susanna want? What he wanted himself he wasn't sure. How could he reach out and take the lifeline he had been tossed, when he'd turned his back on hope forever and a day ago? Did he dare?

Henri had said to take a last chance on love...but if he failed, he was certain he would not withstand it this time. And losing Susanna forever as a friend would kill his heart for good. He had just found her...he was allowing himself to remember how close they had been, and now things began to get complicated. If he dared to try and pursue this, to what end?

"I think we can safely go to lunch now," Jackson said, interrupting his brother's brooding. "Do you want to carry him, or shall I?"

"I will," he said softly, setting his tools in the grass. He picked the sleeping child up, supporting his legs with one arm and pressing him face down against his shoulder. It felt odd once again to hold him. A strange sensation in his stomach that felt like a desire he had never known he wanted.

Fatherhood.

It was impossible...wasn't it? He had never even considered it, because without a woman, why would he torture himself that much more. And what did he have to offer? So far a lifetime of bitterness and anger...and rage he still had a difficult time controlling. He would never hurt a child, or a woman.

But he'd always had a difficult time around other men.

Carrying the boy through the woods, he saw that his father's horse was tied in the front along with the one Lily had used. Suppressing a sigh, he entered the cottage, immediately seeing Lily and Susanna stop what looked like an intense discussion. Susanna flushed, Lily smiled, and Erik knew that she had found out about their kiss.

"Where do you want me to put him?" he asked softly, looking at Susanna.

"Papa's room," she replied, then turned down the hallway. He followed, hearing Lily snicker behind him, followed by Jackson's inquiry of what was going on.

He was in for a great deal of trouble if he was forced to return to the Talbot's.

And watching the sway of Susanna's hips as she walked in front of him, he was in for a great deal more if he stayed. She turned back the covers on the bed and moved aside so he could lay him down. Sinking onto the bed beside Daniel, he covered him to his chin, looking at the picture of innocenct boyishness that slept, unaware of the tension between him and his mother.

"Did you really have to tell Lily?" Erik asked softly.

"I didn't," she whispered. "She...we were both eavesdropping. My father knows..."

"I know. I've already discussed it with him," he said, his jaw tightening slightly. "I've apologized to him. Do I owe you one as well?"

Erik turned when he felt her hand on his shoulder. Her blue eyes were apprehensive as she knelt beside him. "No. The ones last night were unnecessary as well. But I...I feel like I've done something wrong. I may have led you to believe that I'm...that I do that sort of thing often," she said, looking troubled. "And I don't. I've only...I've only done that with Julien, before we were married and after he died, he was the only one."

"What do you want from me?" he whispered, closing his eyes as her hands slid over his. "I...I don't understand, Susanna."

"I know," Susanna said softly. "Would it...would it confuse you more if I said I didn't know what I want? I suppose I should ask you the same question. But I don't suspect you know either."

His eyes opened slowly, revealing green eyes clouded with anger and raging desire. "You're playing with fire, Susanna. I'm warning you not to get burned. I don't play games. Tell me what you want, and tell me now."

Her hands remained on his, caressing the back of his and daring to touch the warm pulse of his wrist. His eyes drifted down, and he lifted his hand over hers, touching the golden band that rested there. It was the first time he had noticed it, and she watched his mouth tighten as his thumb brushed over the single stone.

"I can't," she whispered, looking down as well. "Because I don't know. Will you...will you come to the lake with me later? We can talk, and I promise I won't...I won't kiss you, unless that is something you want."

Erik's eyes shot back to hers, and she heard him inhale sharply. He searched her eyes, his own looking back at her with hunger. The tension rose between them as tight as the strings on a violin, and she knew it was something he did desire.

"I'll come with you," he said slowly, "but you will tell me what you want tonight. If you continue this...I must warn you, you will be possessed by me. I will claim you, and once the Phantom lays a claim on a woman, they belong to him forever."

* * *

Please point out any spelling errors. Thanks. 


	51. Forgiveness

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

The words sent a flood of desire through Susanna's body. She was finding it harder and harder to believe Erik was inexperienced when he said things like that, and the response her body gave. Their hands were still joined, and he was staring at her with challenge written into every aspect of his face. He dared her to condemn him...to turn him away. To make light of their kiss from last night, and release herself from further commitments.

And what should she say to his bold statement? Certainly not that she wished he would hurry up and claim her, although it was tempting. She had to be careful, especially after what she had heard today.

"No man will own me," she finally said, meaning the words, but probably not in the way he would take them. "I will consider, _after_ we have talked tonight, telling you what I _might_ want. Your friendship is still important to me." She squeezed his hand gently, and stood up. Impulsively she tried to touch his cheek and he drew his head away quickly, looking at her hand as if it were a snake. She held it there, suspended, waiting for him to give his permission.

He closed his eyes and turned the mask away from her, letting her touch him briefly. His skin felt warm from working outside, and she could see traces of dirt across his neck and around his face. Even the mask was not safe from the sawdust and debris that was picked up from the building site. This close she could see how uncomfortable the hairpiece must be in the heat, because it looked as if he'd been sweating quite a bit.

"This won't work," he whispered uncomfortably, finally moving his head away from her. "This will never work, Susanna. Nothing will. Not for me."

Sensing she was about to lose him completely, to his own insecurity, she stepped back. "You're going to the lake with me," she said stubbornly. "You've already said you would, and I won't allow you to take it back."

She turned on her heel and walked down the hall, avoiding Jackson and Lily's knowing smiles.

"You two leave him alone," Susanna said quietly and firmly. "_I mean it._"

They sobered instantly, and she began setting lunch places for everyone, including for Lily and Colin. Erik emerged from the bedroom, eyeing her warily as he took his seat.

"Jackson, would you tell my father and yours that if they wish to eat lunch, they will come to the table?"

He immediately obeyed, returning with the men. She made Colin sit next to Erik on purpose, and she sat on his other side. He would have to get used to it. Somewhere between this morning, and his audacious statement earlier...Susanna had made her decision. She only needed to know one thing.

Was Erik prepared to be a father to her children?

* * *

She was deliberately rubbing her elbow against his. He had tucked his own so tightly against his ribs it was almost impossible to eat, and still she continued to poke him. Glaring at her out of the corner of his eyes had not worked. She had smiled sweetly around a mouthful of food, giving him an innocent look and a shrug. Lily and Jackson didn't dare look at him for fear of bursting into mocking laughter. He could see it in their eyes.

Neither his father nor Henri pretended to notice anything, although they would have been blind not to. And simply leaning away from her had not helped, otherwise he would be touching his father's shoulders, and he hadn't been that close to him since the music lessons.

He still had not read the letters Henri had given him, although they had been on his mind since he'd received them. Erik had always thought fondly of his music teacher...all through the years when he would compose, or when he would hear a particularly bad piece of music, he remembered those music lessons that required him to pick out the mistakes and correct them. It had made him a perfectionist. There was nothing worse than badly written music.

Colin Talbot had given him the gift of music. Could he forgive him for being the one to give him life? Deceit had never set well with him...but had it really been his fault? He knew that his father was a few years younger than his mother had been. That was possibly the reason...other than she had been married...that he never tried to make things right.

"How old are you?" he asked his father suddenly.

Startled, Colin looked at him for a moment. "Fifty seven. Why?"

Erik didn't answer. He would have been twenty two when his mother became pregnant. His mother would have been twenty seven.

"He wants to know how long it'll be till you keel over," Lily snickered.

Erik raised his head and looked at her blankly. "You have an odd sense of humor. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Lily is simply odd," Jackson whispered across the table at him. "You'll find that out quickly enough. And the old man's healthy, just a little problem with the old heart now and then."

Feeling like he'd been dealt a blow, Erik sank back against his chair, unable to look at his father, who was watching him in concern.

"What's wrong with...with your heart?" he asked softly.

"Nothing," Colin said firmly, seeing his son's face paling more. "I had a tendency at one time to have fits of anger. It hasn't been as severe lately...and my heart isn't as stressed as it used to be. Dr. Croix pronounced me healthy the last time I was here."

Susanna's husband had known his father. He had examined him...pronounced him fit. It wasn't fair...if he should lose him now, just when he'd found him. He had to be healthy...there wasn't enough time. There would never be enough time to replace what had been lost.

He clenched his jaw to resist saying something...something contrite and foolish. There were too many people around...Susanna was watching, and oddly he felt more uncomfortable with Henri around. As if he would be betraying him somehow.

"I just wondered how old you were...," he paused for a moment, "...when I was born. That's what I wanted to know."

Colin felt a string inside his heart begin to wind tighter. A slow step...but it was definitely forward.

"Twenty two," he said softly. "A young and stupid twenty two year old_ boy, _who didn't have a clue about anything, or anyone. I wasn't prepared for the responsibility, and I ran away just like a stupid, clueless twenty two year old boy would do." He placed his hand on Erik's shoulder for a moment, conscious that everyone was looking at them both. "I hope you can forgive me for my mistakes. God knows I've spent enough years regretting and remembering every one of them."

The words fought for their place inside Erik's throat. They struggled against a lifetime of fear and a mountain of remembered rejections. Finding solace in the warm confidence his mother had lent him so long ago, with each whispered word of encouragement and love...somehow they gained their voice. His mother would have wanted him to say it. Somehow he was able to release the words, no matter what damage it did to his pride, and his heart.

"I forgive you," he whispered. "I do forgive you...Father."


	52. A Look Inside

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Somehow he managed to make it through the rest of their lunch without saying anything else embarrassing or causing his father to choke. Saying the words had felt like a weight lifted from his chest. He'd never said the words to anyone before. Not even to Adam Dessain. And he knew that it was what his mother would have wanted. What his father wanted as well. Erik just hadn't realized how much he needed to say the words.

Susanna's mega watt smile at him confirmed he'd done the right thing, and for once Lily and Jackson did not try to tease him, or grin mischievously. He still wasn't sure what to make of them. Or of Susanna either. He couldn't imagine what a beautiful goddess like Susanna wanted with him. If her response to his face before had been to dive under her bed and scream in terror, he only had to wait to have disappointment and his illusion of romance die.

His father stopped him just they were about to return to the house site, asking for permission to see their progress.

"Of course," he looked around the room, most notably at Susanna. "You're all welcome to come."

Lily and Henri readily agreed. Susanna shook her head, "I...I must stay with the children. Another time?"

She didn't quite hide the truth behind her eyes. She didn't want to go. Erik didn't understand, after her vow to make him go to the lake with her...but he nodded politely and took the rest of them to the site. His father stared at the structure for several moments, "How long do you think it will take?"

"One more month of solid work should finish it. The painting should begin in two weeks, if everything goes according to plan. I just wish I could remember..."

"Remember what?" Colin asked, glancing at his son.

"Colors. I can't remember the damned colors...of the rooms...of the outside trim. Anything," he sighed. "All I can see...is blood."

Looking over his shoulder to see where Lily was, relieved that she was talking to one of the workers, he leaned close. "What did you see that day?"

He closed his eyes, and described the last image he had of his mother, and of Derrik. Then Adam Dessain pushing him down the stairs...then feeling the fire against his flesh.

"Why did you run away?" Colin asked, his voice breaking slightly. "Why didn't you wait...if only you had waited..."

"I knew Henri was sending me to you...but he never told me why. I didn't want to see you...I didn't want to see anyone. My mother was dead, Derrik was dead, and Susanna was...well, she was terrified of me, just like everyone else has been since that day. Just like Chr-"

Erik broke off abruptly, his jaw tightening. He didn't want to think about her. If he could forget about her, maybe he had a chance with Susanna. Somehow he knew even then it would be a long shot. He didn't think he would ever trust another woman near his face again.

"You have family now," Colin said softly. "I hope you will allow us to make a difference. Think of the future you can have with us, instead of what's happened in the past."

"You think I can just forget?" Erik snapped. "You think the lash of a whip is easily forgotten? Or the look in a man's eyes when he dies? You talk of killing Madame Allard as if it would be the easiest thing in the world to do...I assure you it's not!"

"If you dwell on it forever, then you will never have anything good to replace those memories. Henri told me that you may be interested in Susanna...as more than a friend. If you expect to have what I'm sure you want...a normal relationship with a woman...then you have to let go of your past, however difficult it may be. The Phantom is in your past. Persia was a lifetime ago. Stop trying to convince yourself that you deserve to be alone forever. Susanna is a wonderful girl," Henri responded, looking at him directly as he spoke. "She's a mother, and was a good wife to Dr. Croix. Any man would be lucky to have her. Give her whatever she wants, and she will do her best to make you happy."

"Give her what she wants?" he repeated slowly. "Do you have any idea what a woman wants? I spent ten years trying to make _Christine _happy, and in the end I still gave her what she wanted. Another man."

"I'm not saying love is perfect, Erik. Not for anyone. I've had my heart broken. By your mother. I don't know what I expected, having an affair with an older woman...I was too young and naïve to even think that she would be married. I suppose I thought she was a widow...she never said. I was still young and stupid when I left her here, pregnant with you, and married the first girl my mother shoved under my nose," Colin said, giving him a hard look. "Love isn't kind to anyone. You have to fight for what you want...but you have to fight fair."

Erik swallowed hard, closing his eyes at the revelation that his father had loved his mother. He hadn't considered that he had been born out of love. Wedlock...yes. It didn't bother him at all to be a bastard. It was better than his alternative...which was to have been the son of Dessain. "What about your wife?" he asked softly. "I thought...I assumed you two were happy."

"We are. I love her more every day, but the first eight years were pure hell. She assumed I was having an affair, which I never did, and I ignored her and became obsessed with writing music," he said gently. "It all changed...an irony that tears my heart out...when Francine died, and you disappeared. I woke up. Henri sent me a letter, telling me what had happened, and Emma watched me read it. I cannot tell you," his voice lowered considerably, "how much it hurt. I realized how foolish I had been...not only with you, but with her. She was a good woman, my wife, and I had done little to deserve her. And I never did enough for you. I should have forced Francine to tell the truth...but she wouldn't allow it. After assuming Dessain was in prison for life, she was content to let you live a trouble free childhood."

Erik snorted, "Yes. That's just the way I would describe it."

Colin was silent, staring suddenly at the gentleman Lily was talking to, and seeing the young man lean close and talk in her ear.

"Who is that?" he demanded, pointing at the insolent little whelp, who was now touching her arm.

"Lucien Boef."

"You'd best tell Mr. Boef, if he wants to keep his arm, he'll get it off my daughter," Colin said harshly. "Lily! We're leaving. Come along."

Lily spun around to glare at them both. "I'm speaking to someone. Can't you wait?"

"No," Colin said sharply. "We're leaving. Right now."

She gaped at them, then stomped towards them in a very unladylike manner. "You no longer have the right to order me around! I'm twenty , and I may stay here and return to Susanna's, if it pleases me."

"Monsieur Boef is working," Erik said quietly. "He doesn't need...distractions while he's employed by me. I'm not paying him to talk to you."

"Oh!" She made a sound of disgust. "You two are _just_ alike. Honestly! I meet a man willing to talk to me without a hint of laughter in his eyes, and you must order me around like a child!"

"I've seen your choice of men in the past," Colin bit off. "No man will be touching you until I've spoken with him first!"

"If even one more person brings up _Duncan_ Pierce today," she whispered furiously, "I'm going to have a conniption fit, right here on your job site, Erik. Then neither of you will have to worry about a man speaking to me, cause he'll call me crazy, just like everyone else!"

She spun around and stomped back off, this time towards her horse. She was almost, but not quite out of hearing range when Erik asked her father, "Who is Duncan Pierce?"

His father didn't answer him, and strode off behind Lily, who had turned around once again to glare at him. He didn't hear what was said, but his father took her by the shoulders and forcibly removed her from the yard, placing his hands on his hips in stubborn silence until she mounted her horse and left a trail of dust in her wake.

His father shouted something, then took off after her, cursing the entire time.

Erik turned when Jackson stepped beside him. "Airing out the family skeletons I see," Jackson said softly. "You really shouldn't have said the _D_ word, you know. She's not going to forgive you for that."

"Oh, I can listen to her rant about my love life, but I'm not allowed to ask about hers?"

Jackson smiled slightly, "If you know what's good for you, you wouldn't want to. Lily...Lily recovered from a serious depression by becoming cynical and sarcastic. She wasn't always like this. Never pleasant...but she wasn't like she is now."

"What happened?" he asked softly.

"She fell in love," Jackson said quietly. "Lost her innocence...she was, and I swear if you repeat this I _will_ take you down to the ground...she was pregnant, and lost the baby. Right _before_ her fiance announced his intentions to get married to another girl, who was also pregnant. He did it the same night he was supposed to make _their_ announcement...then spread a rumor that Lily was _unbalanced_. He denied everything, and now is married to a doe eyed beauty that Lily hates with all her might, and their child was born a few months ago. Lily hasn't left the house since the night of the betrothal party...until we came here."

"Does everyone know?" Erik whispered, feeling pain and kinship with his sister. He knew what betrayal felt like, all too well.

"About the baby? Pretty much. It's hard to keep servants quiet. No one here knows anything...and we don't talk about it with Lily. She was inconsolable. Her and Papa used to be very close, but now they fight all the time. And she doesn't trust me at all. She thinks I told him everything, which I didn't...but I didn't need to after I beat the snot out of Pierce. Everyone in the vicinity heard him blubbering," he snorted softly, "and in front of the perfect Miss Cooper as well. But...don't say anything to Lily. Sometimes I feared she would...," he took a deep breath and looked away, "...I feared she would hurt herself. I tried to talk to her about it, but she shut me out. Her heart has closed completely, and she only allows in what she wants to hear, and very rarely shows anything resembling what's inside."

Just like himself, Erik thought. She had been through so much...and she was still standing. A swaying symbol of hope. If she could make it, however unsteady her legs were beneath her...he could too. He would talk to her soon. If anyone could reach beyond the pain and touch her heart, it was him. If anyone understood desperation and desolate sadness, it was him.

Perhaps he had a true connection with someone...someone who understood what it was like to hide your heart and true feelings. Maybe she could help him find them, because even now he was no longer sure where to look.

* * *

I know, I know. You all want the lake scene! I'm trying, but it's hard to write and work at the same time. It should be up either tomorrow night or Thursday, but I must warn you it will be long and drawn out. They have much to say to one another, and I'm eager to finish writing about the past. 


	53. Saved from Fate

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik was silent all through dinner, and despite several smiles from Susanna, he remained stiff and nervous looking as the final minutes of his blessed ignorance of what she wanted diminished. Her father had already agreed to watch the children, and with a word of warning that she not treat this in a casual manner, he said he would allow them however much time they needed to sort things out. Henri knew there was many things Susanna wanted to know before she considered Erik as more than a friend...and Henri wanted her to know them as well.

By the time Susanna had set a generous portion of dessert in front of Erik, he was so wound up he pushed the sweet smelling cake away from him, nausea threatening to remove what he had just eaten from his body. Henri took one look at him and decided not to say anything about the vulnerabilities of widows and single mothers. He doubted very seriously that the conversation needed to be had tonight.

"I'm going to lay the Elisabeth down," Henri said, taking the girl from Susanna. "Daniel, you as well. Off to bed."

"Aw," he groaned. "I wanted to go to the lake. It's not even dark yet."

"Maybe tomorrow," Susanna said softly. "We can go during the day, and I'll let you swim to your little heart's content."

"Will you come?" he asked Erik. "Mama hasn't really taught me how to swim. She only lets me wade, because she's a girl, and doesn't like to get her hair all wet."

"I...I'm not sure," Erik said slowly. He could swim, but he had to remove the mask, and the hairpiece. "I'll let you know...but maybe Jackson could teach you."

"Jackson doesn't know how to swim."

He looked up at Susanna, "How can he not know how to swim? I thought everyone knew."

"He's British, and worse, was mostly raised in London," she said dryly. "He would probably faint at the suggestion of stripping down and jumping in anything other than a bathtub. Julien wouldn't even swim in that lake."

"Was...was he British?"

"Oh, goodness no!" Susanna laughed, winking at Daniel. "Your Papa wasn't British, was he?"

"Does that mean how Uncle Jackson talks funny?"

"Absolutely," Susanna said, smiling more.

He frowned, "Then no, I don't suppose he was."

"Daniel?" Henri called from the back of the cottage. "Time for bed."

"Goodnight Mama," Daniel sighed, giving her a kiss and hug. He turned to Erik then, putting his arms out.

Baffled Erik leaned down and allowed himself to be hugged, keeping his head out of danger of being uncovered in any way, not obliging him with a kiss, but hearing a smacking sound against his chest. The boy grinned at him when he glanced down, "Goodnight Erik...," he frowned, "...or should I call you Uncle Erik?"

"Whatever pleases you," he said gruffly.

They watched the boy scamper down the hall, a bundle of energy that would soon tire out and be asleep, despite the fact that they had eaten nearly two hours earlier than normal, and he was going to sleep nearly three hours earlier.

"Are you ready?" Susanna asked softly, rising from her chair and removing her apron.

Erik stood awkwardly and moved towards the door, waiting and watching her move around the kitchen, feeling as if every nerve in his body had come alive. He'd never felt this nervous around Christine before. Never felt like this in his entire life...as if whatever fate that was being played out was no longer in his control, and never would be again. It was in Susanna's hands, and she looked utterly calm and peaceful, while he felt as if at any moment he would snap.

"I'm ready," he said impatiently, realizing at once he hadn't ever responded to her.

She stopped moving dishes around immediately, and wiped her hands on a towel. Taking a blanket from the rack, she moved in front of him, avoiding his eyes. Perhaps she wasn't as calm as she first appeared. He opened the door and stepped outside behind her, watching the golden highlights of her hair shimmer in the afternoon light. He caught the faint smell of her as she walked beside him. She smelled like summer...like a fresh summer rainstorm. Lengthening his stride, partly to be away from her, partly to reach the lake quicker, he didn't glance back as she struggled to keep up with him. She didn't complain, but by the time his boots were standing on the shore of the lake, she was breathless as she came up behind him.

"What do you want?" he finally asked, spinning around to face her. His eyes were full of anger, his breathing just as harsh as hers, but for a different reason.

Susanna lay her blanket across the grass, and sat down, arranging her skirts around her legs. Looking up at him with perfect innocence she smiled at him. "I want you to sit down, Erik. I told you I _might_ tell you what I want...but we're going to talk first."

He glared at her, and she stared back, unwilling to compromise even an inch.

"Sit down. Or is this too close to me? Would you rather go sit in the tree again?"

"You're mocking me," he said sharply. "I would rather you tell me what you want, or are you not through playing games, Madame Croix?"

She sighed heavily, rolling her eyes at him. "Maybe I brought you down here to ravish you. Ever think of that?"

His eyes narrowed even further, his fists clenching in anger. How dare she toy with him!

"You're wearing on my last nerve," he ground out, "and I warn you, continue making fun of me, and I will toss you into that lake."

"You'd have to touch me first," she said quietly. "And we both know you have an aversion to that. Please...sit down. I wasn't making fun of you, but you're beginning to get on _my _last nerve, and I'll do worse than toss you into the lake."

He started to ask what she could possibly do, but thought better of it. Moving cautiously to the edge of the blanket, he sat down beside her, making sure that he was a good distance from her with his arms wrapped around his knees.

"We were friends once," Susanna said softly. "More than friends...you were like a brother to me. I've always considered you part of my family, even though you were gone. And I've been alone for over a year and a half now...Elisabeth will turn two in a few months. You've been alone forever, although you say you've been in love before-"

"Say?" he snapped at her, "Do you think I've lied?"

"No," Susanna said gently. "I don't think anything...I don't know anything, other than what little you have told me. I know what...what happened last night was-"

"A mistake?" he offered sarcastically.

"Stop interrupting me," she said evenly. "I despise that as a schoolteacher, and coming from a grown man it's simply irritating." She took at deep breath and started over. "What happened last night was something I have thought about since the night we went to the Talbot's for dinner. I had no intentions on acting on it...I have to think about Daniel and Elisabeth. I won't...I won't become like my mother. I won't dishonor my children, and won't disrespect Julien's memory. I don't know why...I can't explain it. How can you explain an emotion as vague and powerful as...as desire?"

"You're losing me, madame," he snorted softly. "Women do not desire me."

Susanna saw the tense anger in his body, and heard the barely concealed pain in his voice. He didn't look at her, just looked at his knees in stony silence.

"Then how do you explain what I feel?" she asked quietly. "And...and the other two-"

"_They_ did _not _feel that way about me," he whispered furiously. "No one has, and no one ever will. You're feeling morbid curiosity, nothing more. A fantasy of a man in a mask...how well you forget what's beneath this, Susanna. How well you forget what has given you nightmares...what makes you scream."

Leaning across the blanket, she touched his arm, squeezing until he looked at her. Her heart wrenched inside at the torment in his pale green eyes. His lips trembled until he tightened his mouth and clenched his jaw.

"I'm sorry, Erik," she choked out, feeling tears well in her eyes. "You'll never know how sorry I am that I did that to you. I love you...I've always loved you. I was _Daniel's_ age when that happened. I had just seen my brother die...I was frightened of _everything_. I didn't even know that was you. It doesn't excuse me...and I'll regret it for as long as I live. But I'm a grown woman now. I understand what happened. I'm under no illusion about what you hide from me. And I would never do what that girl did to you. I would never take your mask."

He looked away, his eyes closing. She was lying. She didn't love him, not as a man. "Pity then. You pity me, and feel guilt. That's worse than a lie, Susanna. Much, much worse."

She was silent, weighing his words carefully. "Yes, I do feel guilty," she said quietly. "I feel guilty for screaming at you...both times. I'll regret it, because it hurt you, and I never want to do that. And pity? I'm not exactly sure what you mean by that. Do I feel sorry for you, because of all that you've been through? Yes. Does my heart ache for the pain you've endured? You wouldn't understand how much. But do I look at you and see a helpless man, who isn't strong enough to survive, and to find a way to live, despite all the odds against him? No, I think you're fearless, because it's what you've had to be in order to make it."

Erik tried to think of something to say, and failed. He wanted to say something cruel...to warn her away from him again. She was giving him a gentle let down...she had to be, and he wished she would get it over with.

"Tell me about the girl from the theater."

"Susanna-"

"I have to know more about you before I can make a decision," she said gently. Scooting closer to him, she watched his head turn to face her quickly, giving her a look of fear. Her movements had startled him, and she could see that he thought she was trying to touch the mask. "I've already said I wouldn't do that. Don't you believe me?"

"No," he muttered, staring at his knees again. "I don't trust anyone. Especially women."

"Can you tell me about her, or is it too much to ask?"

He sighed softly, looking out over the sparkling blue water. The times he'd come here as a boy had been a slice of heaven...and a cherished memory he had never let go. And she had always been here. Susanna and Derrik. What her decision...or rather, what she was deciding on was a mystery to him. But whatever it was...if telling her about Christine put an end to his misery, then he would tell her.

"What do you want to know?" he asked softly. "Do you want to know how I deceived her? How I gave her music lessons behind a mirror, pretending to be an Angel? She thought her dead father had sent me to her...she was very young when I began. It didn't start out as anything other than someone for me to talk to in the theater. I was lonely...she was too. Christine never knew that I was a man, not until a couple of years ago. I'm sure you read all sorts of things in the paper...none of which were true, except she did disappear for awhile. She spent a night in my home with me...and I returned her safely. Not one hair on her precious head was touched. I never would have taken her, if her admirer had stayed away." He looked at her for a moment, seeing her blue eyes were unreadable, her face expressionless. With a dark smile, he continued. "Do you want to know that I was going to force her into marriage? I was going to make her choose. Him or me. I heard them making plans...I was quite the eavesdropper, you know. They were going to run away...to be away from me. I had frightened her too badly, and of course, she had managed to take my mask the first time. The shock nearly caused her to faint, but if the sight hadn't been enough, my rage would have been sufficient reason for her to hate and fear me."

Susanna stared at him, wondering at what point he had decided to give up. After he left Persia? Had he simply decided that living among other people was no longer possible?

"What did she choose?" she asked softly.

His nostril flared, and his eyes turned dark and angry. "She chose me, to save her true love from death. And in that moment, I knew that I had turned into Adam Dessain. I was no better than he was. Cruel, evil. A monster," he spat the word with venom. "I became what the Gypsies called me. A child of Satan. So is this what you want?" he turned to glare at her. "You want...what? To be covered by the likes of me?" he asked scornfully. "As much as I'd love to...I must decline. There's just enough decency left inside me to save you from that fate."


	54. Honor Leaves you Wanting

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna ignored his question, and instead reached for his hand. "You loved her very much, didn't you?"

"Love? Or obsession? The two were so close, I could no longer tell. I _loved_ Mirela, as much as any foolish boy dares to love a girl." He looked down at the gold band on her finger, raising it slightly so she would look at it. "You loved your husband...but you had a foundation...or rather, you worked at a foundation of trust. You were committed to him. I've never had that chance with a woman. The only way I could be close to Christine, was to be something else. A ghost...a phantom. A dead thing that doesn't deserve respect or love. Only pity."

He dropped her hand as if it burned him, looking out over the water again. She tried to touch him again, on the shoulder, and he thought she was trying to touch the hairpiece. With a scowl he moved away from her, ignoring the look of sorrow on her face.

"If I can't touch you, then how would anything ever work between us, Erik?" she asked softly. "I'm trying to understand you. I know what pain you've endured...only a part of it...but it's enough. I...I don't understand why you won't let me touch you. I can't hurt you physically. I won't try to humiliate you." She took a breath, a question burning inside her that she couldn't ignore any longer. If it were true...and she prayed that it wasn't...she would leave him alone. No matter how much she wanted him, if he wasn't willing then she would remain his friend. "Did those men do anything else to you?" she whispered, swallowing a painful knot in her throat.

He turned his head to her sharply. "What exactly are you asking, Susanna? Did they attempt to force perverted attentions on me? No. I would have killed them both, and much sooner."

"Then why...?"

She stopped as she watched him shrug out of his coat, and begin untying his cravat. Not looking at her, he unbuttoned his sleeves, then the shirt itself.

"You want to see?" He slid the shirt from his shoulders, and turned his back to her. Spreading his arms wide, he showed her the scarred flesh across his back. Day after day of torture...of beatings. Merciless beatings, that turned into infections if not treated properly. "The days they threw garbage at me were the worst," he said harshly. "Rotting food tends to sting the raw flesh. Manure is worse, and rocks only slightly better. But the insults were always interesting. You would think people would have compassion...but they don't. Especially people who run in your mother's crowd. There wasn't a single one of her friends who did not laugh...not one of them offered anything. And I pleaded with her. I _begged_ her to help me. She tossed me a coin, and said I could help myself."

Susanna stared at the mass of silvery scars across his back. Stripes of white, raised flesh across his shoulders, along his ribs. She had not seen them last time, too mesmerized by his chest, and he had not shown her his back. Her breath caught in her throat sharply as she thought of his pain...she could hear him screaming, hear him as he asked her mother to save him.

"I would have," she whispered, although she didn't mean to say the words aloud. "I would have saved you."

He looked at her over his shoulder. "And you would have died trying, just like she did."

Raising her eyes to his, she felt another knife of pain through her heart. "Mirela?"

Erik nodded slowly. "She died, trying to free me. I was trying to free her as well...she was good to me. A friend, although by the time I had been there for three years, I knew that I loved her. After Rulv caught us at the creek, I wasn't allowed out of my cage for long. I was always kept tied to someone, or something. I wouldn't have left anyway. They could have left it open, for all I cared. I would have never left her."

"You sustained beatings for...for her? You stayed because you loved her?" she whispered in shock. "And you knew she would be married to him? Oh, Erik."

He turned away, hiding tears that had somehow managed to escape. The memories were so clear, even now. She was like a whisper in his mind, always there, along with the guilt...the pain. The love that was never meant to be.

"She used to sneak away from the music and dancing at night, and sit with me," he said softly. "She was beautiful...perfect. Kind, generous. And when she turned fourteen, she was forced to marry Rulv. An arranged marriage, as most of them are. The night before she wed, she stole the keys from Danoir, her future father in law, and opened my cage door. She was going to set me free...and I made her promise that she would never do so again, unless she was willing to come with me."

Susanna moved around until she could see his face, see the tears in his eyes, even as he struggled to keep them at bay.

"What did she say?" Susanna whispered.

"I frightened her with my declaration of love...she only considered me a friend. I closed the door on my cell, and ordered her to return the keys before Danoir missed them. She was afraid to leave her culture. She would have been shunned from both her family, and the people in your world. I wouldn't have been enough...I was only thirteen," he smiled a little. "But I was foolish enough to want to try. It was a year later before she came back to set me free again...and this time she was willing to do whatever it took to get away from him. From her husband."

Susanna took Erik's hand, wishing she could take away his pain. Whatever had happened after that had led to Mirela's death. She was sure of it.

"We made it as far as Rouen. She was tired. I was...sore...from another beating," he said tightly, his hand gripping her suddenly. "I had finally taken a bath...I wasn't allowed one very often, because people preferred to see a dirty little savage, who stank so bad flies didn't even want near him." He raised his head and looked at her with deadening eyes. " We were frolicking in the water. Nothing was going on...we were just happy to be away...and she had said that she loved me..."

_Erik stared at her, his eyes widening as he took in her dark eyes and gleaming, wet hair. She was a beautiful goddess. A sinful creature he had wanted...when he was too young to know what it was that he wanted. Painful lust rose in his young body, and he looked at her with hunger in his eyes._

_Hunger that Mirela recognized, only coming from Erik, it was different. He would be gentle...not like Rulv. She could look at Rulv and see the ugliness inside of him. Erik wasn't ugly, anywhere. He was perfect, and she wanted to please him. Take away his pain, make him forget all the cruelties her family...and her tribe had done to him._

"_I love you," she said shyly, wading further into the water with him. _

_He swallowed suddenly, his heart rejoicing inside. "I love you, Mirela. I will always love you."_

_Mirela moved closer to him, her hair hanging around her bare shoulders...her bare breasts, until the water covered her to her chin, and she stood before him in submission. He felt a tumultuous, pounding rhythm in his heart and brain, as if the momentum would propel him into some sweet bliss he was wanting to explore, and send his body into surrender._

_And then he touched her. The first time he had done so. She had touched him a thousand times...tending to wounds on his back through the bars of the cage. Washing his face, only to watch as he re-smeared dirt across it to hide the evidence of her ministrations. She had healed his feet when Danoir had mercilessly stomped on them, breaking the bones and tearing the skin. The puncture wound where Rulv had forced a metal rod through his hand, to prove to a paying fair goer that the monster was capable of speech._

_She had touched him...but he had never touched her. He did so now, raising a trembling hand from the water and sliding his fingers over her silken cheek. Her eyes slid closed, her mouth opening, and she released a small sigh._

_He touched her, then heard the snort of laughter from the shore. _

"They had been watching the entire time," he said softly. "Danoir and Rulv, and about four other men from the camp, including her father. Danoir was amused. His little pet had managed to escape...and he thought it quite funny that I was trying to take his son's wife. Rulv was not. In Gypsy culture, the husband can send the wife back to her father if he is displeased with her...or he can decide on another option. He chose to send her to her death."

Erik turned when he heard her sob. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she cried in earnest now, her hand pressed against her mouth to stop the flow of tears, useless against such repressed, struggling emotion. Her other hand was still in his grasp, and she held onto him so tightly he couldn't have removed his hand if he wanted to.

He didn't.

"Please," she whispered, moving to her knees and leaning towards him. "Please, Erik, let me touch you."

Her hand touched his bare shoulder, sending electric current flowing through him. He jumped this time, but not of fright. His knees pressed tighter together as she sat facing him, removing her hand from his and placing it on his other shoulder. Looking at him steadily, tears still flowing from her eyes, she put her arms around him hesitantly at first...then...when he didn't pull back, she closed them around him at last, burying her face against his neck and releasing a harsh cry of pain.

Erik closed his eyes at the overwhelming feeling of panic...and desire. They intertwined so closely he was no longer sure which one to follow. He moved his arms above hers, so that she couldn't take the mask, and let her slide her hands around his mid back, tracing the scars, and releasing more cries as she did.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered against his neck, releasing hot, moist air from her mouth. "I wish I could have done something...I'm sorry about my mother. Oh, Erik, please forgive me."

Stunned, he put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her away from him slightly. "You've done nothing to me, Susanna," he said softly. "Don't apologize to me for what your mother did."

She leaned back into him, the fabric of her dress touching his stomach and chest, her bare, wet cheek on his shoulder. Soft breaths hit his skin, sending flames of desire through his body. She was a living, breathing woman in his arms...and when he touched her she didn't die.

She didn't die.

His arms slid down to her back, and he closed his eyes as he felt the shape of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips. Moving his hands back up, he touched her slender back, his hand moving up to touch her hair for a moment, then sliding back down her spine. He caught the ribbon that trailed through her golden curls, and tugged gently, releasing the mountain of soft springs from their confinements. She stopped crying when he slid his hands through her hair, tilting her face back to look into her darkened blue eyes.

She stopped breathing when his thumbs traced over her brows, and raced along the edge of her jaw, touching the hot beating pulse in her neck.

"Kiss me," she begged him, her mouth beckoning to him like a plump, ripe peach. He wanted to taste her again.

Erik bent his head and opened his lips slightly, teasing her with gentleness...as gentle and hesitant as before. He heard her groan, a sound of frustration, then felt shock and heat spear through him when her tongue touched his lips.

He raised his head, staring at her with wide eyes, licking his lips and looking at hers with hunger.

Her hands slid up his back, touching his scars with widely splayed fingers as she pulled him back down to her. Susanna opened her mouth and ran her tongue against the seam of his lips, moving closer to him...so close she was nearly in his lap...and gently coaxed his mouth open with hers.

The hesitant meeting of their tongues caused groans from both of them. Hot, need filled sounds that rent the air with sexual tension. His hands gripped her ribs more tightly, his breath rolling hot and fast against her mouth.

"Susanna, this is madness," he whispered roughly, but didn't stop kissing her. It wasn't madness...it was heaven. He kissed her in triumph. In fear. In relief.

She didn't die when he kissed her, and he plunged his tongue into her mouth suddenly, feeling an explosion of pleasure so intense he broke away from her and gasped for his breath. Unable to withstand the loss of contact, he kissed her harder again, his mouth and tongue surging against hers in unrestrained passion. She slipped her tongue inside his mouth, and they caressed, open mouthed against one another. She moved her hand from his back to his chest, rubbing against his skin, grazing across his nipple and enjoying the hiss of breathtaking arousal that hit him full force.

She took his hand and pressed a kiss against his palm, her mouth leaving a hot trail along his skin. "Do you want to make love to me?" she whispered, her voice husky and deep, her eyes blue and dark with desire.

The words caused his arousal to strain more against his trousers. Sexual need filled him so painfully, he nearly groaned at the mere idea of relief.

"Yes," he hissed at her. "I want you, Susanna." He wanted to lie to her, but the words wouldn't come through. He tried to release her, but his body wouldn't obey. He would have given anything to be inside her...to become one...to feel her body against his, to hear her beneath him. "I want you," he repeated, his voice a dry rasp that sounded nothing like him. "But I won't take you. It would be an honor...but I can't. I'm sorry."


	55. A Reason

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna's hope plummeted as he denied her. Along with it a sense of relief...she should not have asked that question. It had been in her mind, but it shouldn't have ever found his ears. Knowing what she did about him...about his inexperience...she should not have asked. But that kiss had seared all the passages of sanity shut, and she asked another question that she shouldn't have.

"Why?"

A shuddering laugh escaped from him, "Because you're an innocent little girl. Because I would consume you, and turn you into something unrecognizable. A soiled woman, ruined for any other man. And if I did that with you, I would never let you go."

Her hand slid up his arm slowly, brushed his neck briefly, then caressed his cheek. His eyes slid closed at the contact, and he covered her hand, making sure she wasn't trying to touch his mask or hair.

"What if I don't want you to let go?" she whispered. "I'm strong enough to withstand you. You couldn't change me. I think you deserve the chance...and I want to take it with you. I haven't felt this way for any man, not since I was married."

Erik's eyes opened slowly, and he regarded her with a haunted green gaze. "Your husband wouldn't have wanted a man like me to raise his children. They deserve better than what I can give them, and so do you."

"And what do you deserve?" she asked, her voice growing angry. "More solitude? More abuse? I think you need us. I think you need your family now, and it's time for you to let us care for you. You aren't dead yet Erik." She began to glare at him, her hand pressing firmly into his back, and the other one against his cheek. "You have a lot of years left...don't you feel anything for us at all? Your father? Your brother and sister?"

Me? She asked silently, although she didn't have to say it.

"I don't know what I feel," he whispered, "I don't want to feel anything."

Susanna kissed him again, drawing another shot of air and fire from his lungs, making his hand forget the task of protecting his face as he touched hers, then fisted his hand inside her hair. She rose above him as she kissed him, maddening and erotic as her hand swept across his cheek, and the other one just below his mask along his jawline.

"You feel _me_," she groaned softly. Feeling as if she would ignite, she leaned against him, allowing her breasts to graze his chest. "Touch me."

He pulled away from her, breathing harsh against her face. "Where?"

She found his hand, guiding it to her breast, then down her stomach, letting it settle on the curve of her hip. "Wherever you want," she whispered, looking into his eyes with raising desire. "Touch me, Erik. I want to feel your hands on me. I want you, no matter what happens."

"And afterwards?" he asked, sounding angry and frustrated all at once. "What then, Susanna?"

His hands gripped her waist, and he lifted her against him, unable to stop his hips from grinding against her thigh as she shifted onto him. The sizzling heat low in his stomach spread quickly, and he did it again, closing his eyes and grunting softly at the pleasure he was going to deny himself.

"Afterwards we could do it again," she said thickly, feeling his arousal straining against her. "Then we might discuss the prospect of...of courtship."

"C-courtship?" he stammered, "I don't know the first thing about courtship. I'm not the sort of man that...that engages in that sort of thing. You're talking madness again." He pushed her rather roughly from his lap, looking at her balefully. "I can't court you. I shouldn't even be here with you. I should have told you to go to the devil."

Determined, and feeling far too seductive for her own good, she moved back towards him, her lips on his shoulder this time, and tracing a soft blazing path to his neck.

"You want me," she whispered. "I want you. And I want you to take a chance on me. On the possibility of what we could mean to each other." She kissed his jaw, just below the mask, then moved her lips back over his. "There's every possibility that this won't work-"

"All the more reason for you to stop," he gritted out, closing his eyes even as he kissed her deeply, his hands wrapping around her back and pulling her to him. "I can't survive again..." If she broke his heart...if he dared to give it to her...he wouldn't survive.

"What if it does?" she asked softly, almost reaching up to run her hand through his hair, then remembering it wasn't real. Her hand instead touched his ear, brushing the coarse, stiff strands of black hair around his neck. Erik's eyes narrowed at her as she continued, and she brazenly touched the back of his head, smoothing the hair against his neck. "What if we're able to make things work? I'm not asking for a marriage proposal, or a declaration of love. I'm asking you to get to know me and my children, and consider sharing your life with us. I'm asking for your time...we don't have to do _this_, if you would prefer not to." She smiled at him, and kissed him again. "I could tell you what _I _prefer, but I think you might just blush."

Erik did anyway, feeling a burn of shame and discontent he had carried around all his adult life. "You know then...? Your father told you...?"

"I was eavesdropping," she said softly. "I'm sorry...but it doesn't change the way I feel. You probably think I'm a terrible woman, throwing myself at you...begging you for things you've never given anyone. I've never behaved this way," she whispered, turning her face away from him. "I'm not like my mother, Erik. I'm not...I just-"

Erik touched her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You're nothing like her, Susanna," he said softly. "And that's precisely why I won't...I am retaining the last meager scraps of my honor, and the only thing I have left is my word. I won't ruin your reputation. I can't, because you're a good woman, and a mother. I told your father I wouldn't, and I told myself as well. Even with Satan himself whispering in my ear, I can't do it."

She could see the struggle in his eyes. The doors were closing rapidly in his mind, and she was witnessing him distance himself from her. Not physically, but emotionally.

"Then if you won't make love to me, will you court me? A bold thing for a woman to ask...forgive me...but I want to know."

"I'm not a normal man," he said quietly, his head lowering to his chest. "The mask...the hair. It's not real. I'm no longer sure I even possess a heart. It's been beaten and bruised, just like my body. And you know my past...you know what I was...and the only thing standing between me becoming that again is the money I stole from the theater."

"Who cares what is normal? Nothing says you can't live here with in peace. These people knew you as a child...let them know you as a man. Come to the village with me. Come to church on Sunday."

He looked at her in panic. "No! I haven't been to church since I left here...I have no intentions-"

"Please."

Erik shook his head, feeling a riot of resentment stir in his chest. "Don't ask me again."

"Take walks with me in the evenings," she said softly, her hand rubbing a slow circle on his chest. She trailed her fingers through the springy dark hair of his chest, then down his stomach towards his navel. "Come to the lake tomorrow with me and the children. Teach my son to swim. Let us heal you, Erik. Let us be part of your life, even if we are never anything more than friends. I don't want you to leave here ever again. Let me give you a reason to stay."


	56. The Loon

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik didn't answer her. He merely stared, as if the words she had spoken were in a foreign language, or if she had suddenly descended into Elisabeth tongue, where nothing made sense because it wasn't real. Susanna wondered how to convince a man who had given up to take a chance on life. To take a risk, when his whole life had been nothing but one big risk, until he'd deliberately made a safe home in solitude. A man whose heart was already damaged, and had once again been broken last year. Exposed and humiliated again to paying crowds, and then abandoned for true love and a titled gentleman.

"You told Lily you had no interest in marriage," she began hesitantly, her hand still against his chest. She looked down and noticed his stomach was drawn tight, and evidence of fear and need was clearly in his body language. She moved her hand to his arm, watching his eyes close in relief...and perhaps disappointment. "You wanted to marry Christine though, so was she the only woman you were interested in marrying? Did her refusal kill that dream?"

"It certainly didn't help it," Erik said quietly. "You don't want me as a husband, Susanna. You don't want me raising your children. I'm not a good man. You shouldn't have turned Rand Vallee down. He would have been perfect for you. He's kind, handsome, seems to be a hard worker. He like-"

"Then you should marry him!" she snapped, scrambling up and away from him. "He'll have you convinced in no time! Honestly, if I wanted Rand Vallee, I would have accepted his offer four months ago, and every time since then. Listen well, and you can pass this along to him: I'm. Not. Interested."

Erik tilted his head back to look at her, nearly chuckling as she breathed fire down at him. She was furious, and in fear of being kicked while sitting down, he stood as well.

"What the hell do you want from me?" he questioned, growing angry as well. "Why? Why me?"

"Even if I had the right answer, would it matter? I can't tell you why! Can you tell me why the moon turns blue, or the stars fall? It just happened, Erik. This is what happens when two people are attracted to one another. They discuss courtship...marriage. I'm not trying to force you into either one, but I'm telling you what I want. All I need to know is what _you_ want. Damn everything else," she commanded him, pointing a finger at the sky. "Forget everything. The past, the future. _Tell me what you want_."

Erik stared at her blazing blue eyes, heaving chest, and passion written clearly into her face. My God, she was serious about this. The realization hit him then...she wanted this. She wanted, and expected him to say yes to this madness. And he wanted to say yes. He wanted to shout, to take her back into his arms and kiss her senseless...he wasn't sure if he was capable of kissing anyone senseless, but he wanted to try.

Susanna was responsive...she didn't shudder or pull away from him. She was the aggressor, and he'd been acting like the wounded animal, waiting for her to kill him. Not once had he taken what he desired from her. He hadn't wanted to frighten her...holding back so that he wouldn't scare her or hurt her. But here was a woman who didn't look like she wanted him to hold back...the woman he'd been waiting for. A creature who would understand his frustration. An experienced woman who was still pure and sweet...he never desired to take a prostitute, despite all his other instincts screaming at him to pay someone and end his torment. But Susanna wanted him...as much as he wanted her. Courtship and marriage seemed a distant second to the other thing she was offering...but in truth were equally appealing.

Approaching her now, he saw her eyes widen, and felt a jolt of pleasure when she stepped towards him as well.

A compromising woman...

Searching her eyes, becoming lost in the way the sinking sun had cast a brilliant light into them, making them seem a softer shade, the golden glow of her skin seemed like spun silk, her hair shining and glorious all on its own, Erik knew that he was becoming lost as well. _She_ would consume _him_, not the other way around. He only hoped that it would work this time...with Susanna.

"I want you," Erik said, taking her in his arms, and holding her to his pounding heart. "But let this be your warning: If you surrender to me, I will not release you. Ever. I am a possessive man...a jealous man. And what is mine, will remain mine. You won't receive the same absolution as Christine, because you pursued me. Do you understand?"

Startled at the vehemence of his tone, she frowned at him. "I told you, no man will own me. If it doesn't work, for whatever reason, you won't bully me. And you forget, I have two children. If you aren't willing to be a father to both of them, then you can take a flying leap. It doesn't matter if you were the Phantom, or the Trap Door Lover," she poked a finger in his chest. "If you court me, you will be Erik Dessain, and I've never taken an order from him. I won't start now."

"What are you saying? That if we marry, I will be the one taking orders?"

She laughed, "Clearly we will have to work on your idea of what a marriage is. And everything else."

"Stop playing games with me," he shouted at her. "What the hell are you trying to prove? That I'm an imbecile when it comes to people? There...you have it...proof that I cannot function in civilized society!"

"Oh, settle down," she stood on her toes and kissed him, silencing him the best way she knew how. "If my parent's marriage...and your mother's marriage to Adam Dessain is the only idea you have of what a marriage is, then you need your eyes opened. Control and manipulation are not what makes a marriage. You will not control me...I will not control you. There is more to marriage than power struggles...although we will have them anyway. I'm not saying anything is easy. If you want proof of a _real_ marriage, look at Colin and Emma."

"What have they got to do with anything?" he asked, eyeing her with suspicion.

"Theirs is a marriage that has endured, Erik. The first few years, they barely spoke to one another. There were no children born during that time...I don't think I need to explain that to you. She thought he was cheating on her...he thought she wasn't interested in him. Emma never told him anything...your father thought she was content to be a wife, and nothing more. Consumed by music, and he completely ignored his wife. He came to see you, and she thought he had a French mistress. It wasn't until you disappeared that they became close," she said softly, kissing him again when he began to look grim. "It wasn't many months...slightly less than a year later that Jackson was born. Emma cares for you, Erik. Your pain...the pain your father felt when you disappeared brought them together. And they have a perfect marriage...even if they fight sometimes, which they never did before...they have a real marriage, and I always hoped to have one just like it."

"You didn't?" he asked carefully. "I thought you said you were happy."

"I was, as much as I could be. But being a doctor's wife was nothing like I expected. He was gone for days sometimes...I was alone with a small child, and living in town was so different from living with my father. Better than living near my mother...but I was lonely all the time. Julien wasn't a bad husband...when he was around. There were times he had to leave, waking me up and leaving in the middle of the night, or during church, during Daniel's baptism. His birthday parties...three of them he wasn't able to attend...I know he had to go, but it didn't change anything for me. I was young and ignorant, and I wasn't considerate of what he had to do. By the time I was pregnant with Elisabeth, I expected it...and then he died."

"So now I have standards?" he asked harshly. "I'm expected to be as good of a husband and father as Colin Talbot?"

"I never said Colin was a good father...I said he was a good husband. There's a world of difference," she said softly. "If you want an example of a good father, then look at mine, even if he has a temper, he's always been fair."

But her other words had caught his attention. "He...he isn't a good father?"

"It depends," she said slowly. "If you had stayed...I think he would have been. But he treats Jackson and Lily like they're a weight of guilt he can't get rid of...he isn't close to Jackson at all. They talk, they tolerate being around each other, but they aren't close. And he was with Lily...she wouldn't have let him be otherwise, but that all changed when...when she..."

"I know about Pierce," he said quietly.

"It changed, and I think there is a lot of pain inside of her, and I don't think she's ready to let it out," Susanna said gently. "You have a wonderful family. They aren't without problems...but they are always there for one another. If you want the truth, they won't let go of one another, no matter how distant they might seem, because of you. You've bound them together, and it's a shaky foundation, but they have never stopped hoping."

"Why?" he whispered, feeling an ache inside his chest. A well of hope, and of longing.

"Because they want you to complete them," she said softly. "They want you to fill in the hole that your absence has caused in their lives. And Jackson and Lily want your father to recognize them as his children, and stop putting them on hold because of his guilt over you. Emma is the only sane one in the whole lot of them."

He tried to stop a smile, but couldn't, and she smiled back, though she didn't know what she had said to cause it. Erik was beautiful when he smiled.

"If Emma is the sane one...I guess that makes me the loon."

Susanna kissed him again, her hands moving around his bare back, tracing over scars and warm even skin. His eyes closed, and he let out a soft groan as she touched his ribs, then slid her hands up his chest and around his neck. On her tiptoes, she kissed him deeper, moving closer to him when his hands gripped her arms and held her tighter.

Whatever she had expected...it hadn't been this. He was touching her, and she was touching him. She had broken through his defenses, and found him still angry and frightened. Erik was still wounded inside, but hope had settled in her heart. She could still save him...he was more than willing to explore life with her. To experience more, if she was honest with herself.

She didn't need proof...it was pressed against her stomach, hard and waiting for him to say yes. He already had her answer, and she doubted it would take much to change his.

But for now she kissed him, opening her eyes to see his closed. The mask felt strange against her face when she would try to change the angle of their mouths, and he continually tried to keep it tilted so that she wouldn't touch it at all.

Breaking away from him, she smiled up at his dazed expression. "You aren't a loon," she whispered softly. "You're going to be just fine, Erik. I'm going to see that you are."


	57. Detection

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik led her back to the house as darkness began to fall. She held his hand in hers, their fingers laced tightly together as he approached the door and stopped her when she tried to open it.

"You're certain?" he whispered, looking down at her. "Are you certain...would you like a few more days to think about this?"

She shook her head. "This is what I want. I hope you are prepared for the responsibility, if marriage is what follows. Remember that I have two children with Julien. I'm not looking for you to try and be him...but you will have a role in their lives. If you can love them, and be good to them, then everything will work out. But," she paused for a moment, blushing despite all the things she had said to him tonight, "if...if we have children of our own, I still expect you to treat Daniel and Elisabeth as yours."

Susanna watched his lips become fuller, his eyes darkening more. "Children of our own?" he asked hoarsely, sounding as if it merely hurt to breathe. "You think...," he closed his eyes and squeezed her hand tightly. "You think you would have a child with me?"

She smiled softly, feeling a resounding aching in her body. Stepping closer to him, she lay her head against his chest, listening to the raging beating of his heart. "They invariably follow marriage," she said with a chuckle. "Sometimes not...but in this case, yes. We can discuss all this when the time is right. I don't want to terrify you."

He embraced her harder, unable to say that terror was not what he felt. If holding Daniel and Elisabeth had brought such buried emotions to the surface, what would the birth of his own child do? He had no idea how to be a father...and hadn't even considered that possible. There had been no sense in further tormenting himself in the past, and he had never even wondered if he would prefer a son or daughter. He'd never tried to imagine holding his own child, or if they would have green eyes like him, and be tall and have brown hair.

It hadn't been something he thought about...but it was now.

"You may come in and get your things," she said softly. "But if we're going to do this, you aren't allowed to stay."

Baffled, he looked down at her. "Why?"

"Propriety. If we're courting, we can't stay under the same roof...especially not one this small. Will you come with me to the village?" she asked gently. "Consider coming with me on Sunday?"

"Is church important to you?" he asked, feeling doomed and wishing he'd never agreed to this. "I'm not...I'm not a religious man. You don't want to know what I think about God."

"It is important," she replied, looking serious and determined. "If you haven't been to church since your mother died...and I won't tell you what she would think about _that_...then it is time you get yourself back into it. I swear, if you put so much as one negative thought into my children's minds, I'll make you regret it."

He narrowed his eyes, "That's not the first time you've threatened me, Susanna. Why don't you tell me now what you intend to do, so this time I won't be surprised?"

This time? He thought she would strip his mask from him...expose him to people. Expose him to everyone. Her words had been intended as a warning, nothing more.

"I'll...I'll tell Papa who that it wasn't me who took my mother's rings and gave them to the minister's wife."

"But you did do that," he said with a slow smile. "You're going to lie?"

She chuckled, "I'll tell him about the time you and Derrik stole from the Boef's store...or that it was you who nailed his erasers to the ceiling of the schoolhouse."

"You're threatening to expose my childhood indiscretions?" he asked, feeling oddly at ease with her now. "What if I tell him you are the one who broke his favorite watch, so you could prove that time really could fly? Or if I tell him you tried to spy on me and Derrik at the lake when you knew we didn't have swimming trunks?"

"Oh!" she turned a deep shade of red. "I was really hoping you had forgotten about that!"

"If that's all the ammunition you have on me, Suzie, you'll have to try harder," he said, teasing her.

Her eyes widened then, her mouth parting. "No one's called me that in years."

"Suzie," he whispered.

Leaning down to kiss her, he said it again, loving the way her eyes slid closed and her breath caught in her throat. She made such sweet sounds, her lips soft against his, her body softer and warm. Inviting. Her snare was around him completely now...a strange combination of memories of her innocent laughter as a child, and seductive ones of her as a woman. He wondered what Derrik would have thought of them in a relationship. And right now, as he said her nick name again, their lost friend was with them. Derrik was there, tangled in the forgotten moments of childhood mischievousness and youthful innocence.

Erik knew she felt it too, because tears slipped from her eyes as she stared up at him. He brushed them away gently, and kissed each trembling eyelid.

"Have you been to see him?" she whispered, her voice tight with emotion.

"No."

"I haven't either," she said, her eyes closing as she buried her head against his chest. "I've never been...not once."

He held her tighter, wishing he had been here for her when Derrik died. Wishing his face wasn't what it was...wishing he had never been to Persia...never stayed anywhere but right here with her.

"You should go," he said softly. "We both should. He deserves it...he deserves more from us."

She didn't respond, just held him tighter and pressed a kiss through his shirt against his chest. She had never wanted to see Derrik's grave...never wanted to at all. Julien was there as well, but she had avoided Derrik when they buried him, and the Dessain's as well. She hadn't been back to the cemetery since Julien's funeral, and didn't want to go again.

"You should go inside," he finally said, setting her away from him. "I didn't take all my things with me, so I can get what I need another time. I'm not sure about the swimming thing...I'd have to...to remove...and I can't take it off." He looked to the ground as he said it, feeling inadequacy plague him again. "I hope you aren't expecting..."

"Shh," she whispered, kissing him on the left cheek. "I don't expect anything...but I want you to know I'm not afraid of you. It's your choice, Erik. It will always be your choice. I promise, I will never hurt you like that. I want you to trust me."

"I don't know if I can," he replied quietly. "I don't know if I can ever trust anyone again."

She kissed his mouth, wishing she could forget the fact that intimacy and trust were not one and the same, and feeling terrible when she knew it wouldn't matter, as long as she could be with him.

"I don't expect it immediately," Susanna whispered, "but in time...I hope you will trust me. And I will trust you...we both need to work on that. For now, we'll take it slow, and hope that by the time you've finished the house you'll have a reason to stay. I don't want you to leave, and I don't want you to feel trapped." She kissed him again, her chin scraping against his, the rough stubble causing a delicious sensation to travel through her body. "But I do want you, Erik. Just as much as you want me."

He pulled her tighter against him, hoping Henri was nowhere near the door inside the cottage as a groan escaped from his mouth. "_My_ reaction is obvious...how do I know you're telling me the truth?" he demanded, "How do I know this isn't pity...or you aren't-"

She leaned into his ear, her lips caressing the sensitive skin around it for a moment. She would tell him, but she couldn't look at him when she did.

"If you really want to know how to detect when a woman desires a man, I'll show you. But it's going to cost you those meager scraps of honor you claim to possess."


	58. Advice and Orders

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik left with her words burning his mind, and the feel of her lips burning his ear. He wasn't sure what she had meant, but it seemed to excite her as she waited for his response, and her anticipation had made him want her that much more. Whatever it was, it sounded wonderful.

Cesar carried him to the Talbot's in record time, although he stopped him the last mile in to cool him off. The horse was a nervous ball on energy, ready to carry him wherever he needed to go, and at full speed if necessary. Erik's blood raced as well, remembering each kiss, each touch that Susanna had given him. He felt euphoric...or as if he'd consumed an entire case of wine by himself. She couldn't have been faking, could she? He couldn't help but wonder...and hope that it wasn't the case. What reason would she have? He hadn't been touched so much...and in so many places since he'd been a child. She had ripped away his defenses with the sensation of her skin against his...stolen his breath with her kisses and bold commands. Her innocent pleas that he make love to her.

He regretted it...and yet he did not.

Making love to her would seal his fate, and he knew that there would be no return. She would be his forever, despite her claims to the contrary.

When he entered the house, the moody chords of the piano came from the parlor, sounding ominous and foreboding. Erik knew at once it was his father sitting there. He hadn't heard him play since he'd been a boy, and he moved silently into the room, surprised to see Jackson slouched in a chair, a half empty bottle of something at his feet, and an empty glass in his hand. Jackson grinned at him, his eyes bleary and tell-tale of how long he'd been drinking.

Sniffing the bottle, and finding it was vodka, possibly not long.

He sat down next to Jackson, looking at their father over his shoulder for a moment.

"Is he still upset about Lucien?" Erik whispered.

"No," Jackson said loudly, his head sinking back against the cushion. "He's mad because...because he's mad. That's why he's mad."

He snorted, then tried to maintain a serious face and failed.

Erik turned his head to see his father staring at them both, a grave expression on his face as he played. Unwilling as always to stop in the middle of a song, he continued, his eyes lowering to the piano and his chin tucked against his chest. Erik listened intently, closing his eyes and feeling the emotion coming from the music...it was real...so real he could almost feel it around him. Almost touch it. Oppressive and brooding, it sounded a lot like some of the things he'd written when he'd been at his lowest. Notes that could draw the pain away from you, and let other people feel it as well.

"Like it, Erik?" Jackson jeered softly, just as the last notes died away. "Yet another song dedicated to you."

Erik turned to see his father watching them both, a pensive look on his face.

"Go to bed Jackson," Colin said finally. "You've had too much to drink."

Unseen by his father, a muscle leapt in his jaw, and his eyes closed. Erik watched as his brother carefully set the glass on the floor and got to his feet. If it had been him, he would have done more than walk slowly to the door and leave the room. He would have said something...told him that how much he consumed was not his business.

Jackson did nothing. Either he was too drunk to think of a sufficient reply, or he was unable to stand up to his father. Erik suspected it wasn't the drink.

"You didn't stay at Henri's," Colin commented.

"Obviously."

"Did...did everything work out the way you expected? With Susanna?"

He shifted around to look at his father. "No. I didn't expect to wind up courting her. I wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't that."

Colin's face broke into a smile. "Congratulations. I've always been fond of little Susanna. She's just like Henri in so many ways."

"How did you...how do you court a woman?" he asked, feeling embarrassed immediately. "Properly of course...how do you court a woman _properly_?"

Startled, Colin laughed shortly. "Properly? I'm not sure if I even know. Certainly I can hardly remember what I did with Emma...much to my regret. She could tell you...but don't dare tell her I can't." He sighed, his brows drawing into a frown. "Well, I remember there being lots of flowers...I gave her lots of flowers. I...I wrote her songs, of course, since it came naturally to me. Poems...foolishness, isn't it? Women love that sort of thing. We were always chaperoned...my mother knew I'd already gotten one woman pregnant, and she wasn't about to let that happen again."

"She knew?" Erik asked, feeling a strange tightness in his chest. He'd forgotten there had been mention of a grandmother.

"Oh, yes. She's a bloody ferocious woman too...hated the idea of me marrying a French woman. I never told her Francine was already married. I was...well, I was ashamed that I had done so with a married woman. I didn't believe her when she told me what he was like," he said softly, remembering the night of their first fight. "Mother started a courtship with Emma almost immediately afterwards, although it was nearly two years later before we married."

"Two years!" Erik echoed, "I'm not waiting two years to get married!"

"Oh, that wasn't really normal," Colin chuckled. "Most people only wait a year. Now, I believe Susanna and Julien were a summer romance...they married in the fall. Henri and Guin," he grimaced when he said her name, "they were within a year. Some get married sooner. It depends on the circumstances. Are you already discussing marriage?"

"It was mentioned," he grumbled. "Nothing is certain...she talks as if we may decide not to marry at all, then turns around and discusses children and fatherhood as if it were going to happen within the next few days. She wants me to attend church, and walk around the village and be displayed for them all to see."

"All a normal part of courtship," Colin said gently. "If you've never tried it...and in this town in particular...how will you know if it's possible or not? You aren't without family and friends this time, Erik."

"But it doesn't always work does it?" Erik asked, risking a glance at his father, finding him watching him with concern. "Even if...even without all of my problems, there would be a chance that she wouldn't want me. This is...this is hell, if you want the truth. I have no idea what the hell I'm doing, and I feel doomed before I even start."

The courtship terrified him...the other part of her affection...well only a fool would not have taken what she offered tonight. He was a fool. But courtship...he had no idea what to do, where to take her.

"It doesn't always work," Colin confirmed. "And it may be you who discover you're incompatible. It's better to do it before the wedding, than afterwards. If I had gotten to know Emma before the wedding, I would have been much happier the first few years of my marriage. Take her for walks, ride your horses around...buy her something pretty...that's all part of courtship. It isn't all about being seen in public. It's those private moments where you get to know one another, and fall in love. And those moments should outweigh anything else you have to put up with. Even going to church...which by the way, Francine would want you to do."

"I mean no disrespect," he said softly, "but in that one regard, I cannot care. I would do anything for my mother...but I won't commit myself to church in her memory."

"You're far too cynical, Erik. Do not harden your heart...do you remember that? I think the worst thing in the world a man can do is give up on God."

In a flash Erik was out of his chair, breathing furiously as he stared across the room at his father. "I never gave up on _Him_! _He_ forgot about me! Don't patronize me with your biblical nonsense. I won't listen to it!"

"Erik-"

He didn't stop to listen to any more, feeling shame and fury...and as always, fear for the blasphemy he'd spewed. He'd stopped thinking about God and given up praying a long time ago...but for years he had done so. He had read the bible, said prayers...pleaded and begged for mercy and forgiveness, knowing he didn't deserve it and would never earn it. Now he had a reason...a reason to try again, but he couldn't stop the resentment and anger that threatened to destroy his chance.

For Susanna, and her children, he would go. For her, he would walk through fire, although he hoped never to have to literally walk through fire again.

Running up the stairs, not paying attention he tripped over a set of legs in the hallway. Two sets of legs he realized as he came down on his knees. Hard.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Erik. Are you okay?"

It was Emma, looking at him in concern as she rubbed her own leg, trying to hide the grimace.

"Have I injured you, madame? I apologize...I wasn't looking where my feet were headed," he said, looking over at Jackson who slept soundly beside her. "Is he..."

"Oh, yes," she sighed. "Fit as fiddle. And drunker than a snake. He'll be fine."

He looked up, realizing they weren't anywhere near Jackson's room. "Why...?"

"I've been sitting here awhile," she said quietly. "Lily's inside her room," she indicated the doors behind her. "She's been in there since this morning, and won't let us inside. I was concerned about her, but after she stopped shouting earlier, she hasn't said anything else. Jackson gave up, and now he's...well..."

He looked down at his brother, curled up on his side with drool collecting on the carpet beneath his mouth. He thought about what Jackson had said...about Lily hurting herself. And looking into Emma's eyes, he knew that she didn't have a clue what her daughter could have done.

"I'll take him to his room...you can tend to him, can't you?" he asked quickly. He lifted his brother across his shoulder, carrying him like a feed sack down the hall to his own room.

Emma opened the door for him, watching as he unceremoniously deposited him on the bed. He left her there with his brother, walking back down to Lily's room.

He knocked softly on the door. "Lily? It's Erik. Can I come inside?"

Nothing.

He looked at his watch, seeing it wasn't all that late, and knocked again. Fear coiled around his heart, and he cursed Jackson for not breaking the door down, for not telling their parents what she was possibly capable of.

He dug in his pockets and retrieved a small tool, picking the lock carefully then opening the door. It was mostly dark inside the room, although she had left a small lamp going in the bathroom. He could see her lying on the bed, and relaxed when he saw that she was breathing steadily. He shut the door behind him and stepped inside, moving silently to the bed and looking down at her.

She looked like his father, which wasn't all that flattering, but she was a pretty girl. He knelt next to the bed, wondering if she would have been as impish as Susanna as a child...if the pain inside of her was too much to bear now, and if she would ever have the courage to have another child. To take a chance on love.

He was still wondering when she shifted in the bed, her bare arm sliding out from beneath the covers and above her head. His eyes immediately found the blue mark on her inner elbow. He snatched her hand to him, looking in disbelief at the injection marks on her arm.

"Lily, _no_," he whispered, shaking her slightly. "Lily? Wake up."

She groaned, trying to roll away from him. "Leave me alone," she muttered.

"Lily, it's Erik. Wake up."

He shook her harder until her eyes opened in annoyance and confusion.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same," he said harshly, grabbing her arm and pointing at the bruises. "This will stop right now," he whispered in a deathly tone. "You're not going to destroy yourself. This stops _now_."


	59. Scream

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Lily stared up at Erik in confusion for a moment, then fear. She snatched her arm away from him, pulling the covers to her chin and sitting up.

"Get out," she whispered nervously. "Get out, and don't you dare tell anyone."

"No."

Her eyes shot to his, anger entering them quickly. "Get out, _Phantom_. I don't need your brotherly concern. I don't need anything from you. Just leave."

Erik spied the needle on the nightstand next to her bed and pocketed it.

"Where is the rest of it? I want all of it, and I want it right now," he said, his own anger rising. "You're too young for this, Lily. Do you have any idea what this will do to your body?"

"I don't care."

"I care," Erik said softly. He took her arm from beneath the covers and touched the bruise. "This isn't healthy, Lily. You're destroying yourself, and any chance you have to ever be happy. No one is worth this price. Especially not that jerk you were getting married to."

"Jackson's been loud mouthed as usual," she said furiously, wishing she could crawl under the covers and hide. To take another...to die...to forget. "It's none of your business."

"Where's the rest of it?" he repeated. "I want all of it."

She turned to glare at him. "Or what? You'll tell Papa? You'll take your little lasso and put it around my neck?" she asked mockingly. "Maybe you can let me borrow it, and I'll save you the trouble."

His heart ached for her, and he felt fear down into his core. He'd never had the courage to end his life. At times he had thought about it...wanted it. But it was never in him to do it. "I know exactly how you feel," he whispered, his eyes filling with sadness. "I know, more than anyone what you feel. But this isn't the answer...it may seem the best way to end the pain, but trust me you wind up hurting more because of it."

Lily was silent, unable to deny that Erik had been through enough strife to understand what she felt. But he was wrong...this was the only way to end the pain. However brief it was...it had been her only salvation.

"I don't do it that often," she argued. "Just on bad days...it's really nothing."

"Then if it's nothing, you won't mind giving me all of the morphine. I don't know how you're hiding it from them, unless you're not taking a large amount, but it ends tonight. I'm not going to let you do this to yourself. Did you know Jackson already suspects you're doing something?" he asked softly. "I won't tell any of them, but I'm going to be _watching_ you. You aren't going to do this anymore."

"How do you know so much about it?" she whispered.

"Because I've tried it, and just about everything else under the sun. It's not right...this will hurt your mother, and your father if they find out about this. Jackson too, because he'll blame himself."

"He should! He's the one who practically announced to everyone that I was...I was...," she stopped, unable to say it. Tears rushed out of her eyes suddenly, and she turned her face away, wiping at them angrily. "Bloody hell, just get out, would you? I don't need you, or anyone else. Just leave me alone."

"I can't."

Erik took her hand, feeling suddenly like pulling her into his arms, but unsure if it was appropriate. Instead he held her hand, listening to her cry, and feeling completely useless. He had no experience with crying women, and wasn't exactly sure if he should even be in here alone with her.

She was his sister...but it still felt strange to be alone with a woman while she was in her bed. A strange intimacy he'd only experienced with his mother, and Susanna, when she had been a girl. It brought back memories of when he would read her stories, and hold her hand until she slept if it was a scary one.

"Shh," he finally whispered, patting her on the back softly. "There's nothing wrong with you, Lily. You're a lovely girl. There's no reason why you can't get married, and have more children. No reason at all."

"I hate men," she snarled at him suddenly, "I hate all of you! You're vile, disgusting beasts who only want one thing, and once you get it, you leave us. You're bastards, every last one of you!"

Startled, he stared at her a moment. "Oh, and women are so much better? Manipulative and cruel? Deceitful, and betrayers, who lie to your face with promises of love, then stab you through the heart with their innocent laughter and sweet, heartless words of love for other men? Or leave you locked inside a cage? My favorite lady," he said scathingly, "was the woman in Persia who liked for me to kill other people so she could get sadistic pleasure from watching someone die. Yes, women are truly more gentle creatures."

They sat in silence, each of them thinking about what they had just said and heard. Erik watched as Lily leaned across to the other side of the bed and pulled a slim box from under her mattress.

"This is all of it," she said quietly. "I'm not promising anything. But if this will keep you from tattling on me, then so be it."

Erik opened the box, finding three vials, mostly full, and an assortment of needles. Pulling out a small leather pouch, he opened it and sniffed.

"You may keep this," he said with a slight smile. "Cannabis won't do what this other stuff does to you,...but I meant what I said. I'm going to be watching you from now on. No more morphine."

He tossed her the leather pouch, and tucked the box inside his coat.

"I can't just stop suddenly," she protested, looking at him with fear. "Please, Erik."

"I stopped," he snapped his fingers, "like that...and you will too. I'll check on you tomorrow. Susanna and I are going to the lake, will you consider coming?"

"No," she said sullenly. "You've helped me enough tonight."

"He sounds like he was a prize ass," Erik said coolly. "I hope you don't waste the rest of your life on a man who didn't deserve to lick your boots. No man is worth this much torment. Especially not that one."

"It wasn't the man," she said quietly. "I couldn't care less about him. It was...it was losing the baby," she whispered, "my self respect...causing shame for my family. Having to look in my father's eyes, and have him know what I had done. Then, and now...I'm Crazy Lilian. No one wants me, so why shouldn't I do whatever makes me feel better?"

"Because if you do, you'll never find someone to love you. And there is someone out there," he replied gently. "If someone as handsome as myself," he said mockingly, "has a chance, then you certainly do as well."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Erik," Lily said, looking at him steadily. "I think the mask makes you look very handsome. And the scars don't matter. Not to me, and not to Susanna." She sat forward and slapped his arm when he began to look annoyed. "Don't be a hypocrite! You've just lectured me for an hour on what I should and shouldn't do, and I'm trying to give you a compliment. The least you can do is thank me."

"Thank you," he said with great sarcasm. "Thank you for pointing out what a handsome, disfigured monster I am. Especially when you have no idea what's beneath this."

She shrugged. "So show me."

Panic filled him, as well as anger. "I stopped displaying myself to curious onlookers years ago," he spit out at her. "Just because we've shared a tender moment, does _not_ mean I'm willing to be gawked at."

"Well," she shrugged again, a dark edge of humor to her voice. "I may find it convenient to break out into song next time we're in a crowd of people. I think the title will be, 'Erik is handsome, and a charmer of young women'. What do you think? Of course, I may have to get Jackson to help me write it."

"You wouldn't dare," he whispered nervously, feeling cold sweat break out all over his body.

"Dare?" she leaned forward, a gleam in her eyes. "Don't use the word dare around me, luv, I always take the dares. Just ask Jackson if he remembers how, 'Jackson kissed the maid, and got slapped for copping a feel' went. I sang it at the dinner table...of course, we were in a restaurant at the time..."

"Lily," he warned her, wishing he'd never opened his mouth about his appearance.

"Show me," she said carelessly, "and this all goes away. Besides, you started it."

He hesitated a moment, feeling fear and panic in his stomach once more. "Promise me something," he whispered, his eyes unable to meet hers any longer.

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

"Two promises," he amended shakily. "This has to be worth two promises."

Lily considered it for several moments, intrigued. She thought she knew what one of them was, but wasn't sure about the other.

"Tell me," she demanded. "Don't drag this out indefinitely. You're as bad as Jackson."

"No more morphine," he ordered her firmly. "No more morphine, ever."

Pursing her lips, she looked away. "How about I promise I will try? Is that good enough?"

"It had better be a damned good effort!" he barked at her. "No more morphine, ever, Lily. This is costing me more than you'll ever know."

"Fine," she glared at him. "A damned good effort...no more morphine. Now what else, Phantom? You're wearing on my last nerve."

He hesitated again, his eyes softening, taking on a pleading look. She watched as he began to look very afraid...very vulnerable, and suddenly she wished she hadn't done this to him. She knew how it felt to be exposed, and he was doing this for her. To ensure her safety, and to make sure she didn't humiliate him in front of anyone, the way his soprano had.

"Please don't scream," he whispered.


	60. Broken Letters

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Lily felt her heart drop further at Erik's words. She was felt lower than the floor as she looked at him, ready to emasculate himself at her whim. She had wanted to make him angry...embarrass him and expose him the way she felt now that her secret was out. Taking the morphine was something that shamed her, and now Erik knew. Now the rest of her family would find out, one way or another. And Erik was willing to sacrifice his dignity so that she wouldn't humiliate him in front of other people.

"I would never scream at you, Erik," she said gently.

He lowered his eyes, nodding pathetically. No, she might not scream...she might not show emotion at all, but there was still revulsion. And then she would tell everyone what she had seen. Even if she didn't mean to, there would be nothing to stop the whispers and rumors, even among family.

Raising his hand slowly, he touched the bottom of the mask, shifting it upwards slowly.

"No!"

Startled, he looked at her, and realized she had grabbed his wrist. Lily swallowed visibly, glancing at his hand, then back to his eyes.

"Don't," she whispered. "I'm sorry. Don't do this to yourself. Not for me."

He pulled away from her, replacing the mask and feeling a well of relief in his veins. Along with fear. She didn't want to see.

"I frighten you?" he asked nervously. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No. That's not it at all," Lily replied softly. "You don't want to do this...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried to force you. I...I'm terribly sorry. I want you to trust me. That wasn't...I know I'm a real pain sometimes, but that was bad even for me."

"What about the song?" he demanded, his eyes whisking over her face for a moment. "What about the drug? A promise is a promise."

"Alright. I promise no songs, and my other promise still stands. I'll _try_ not to rely on morphine to dull my senses. You don't have to do anything in return."

He looked at her for a moment. "You _trying_ implies you either have more of this, you're going to attempt to steal it from me, or obtain more. Does Jackson use this stuff?" he asked harshly. "Or anyone else in this house?"

She shrugged, "Jackson doesn't do anything as far as I know. Neither does anyone else."

"If I find out you have more of this, we're going to do more than talk, Lily. I won't tell anyone about this, as long as you stay off of it. And remember, I _will_ be watching. More closely now, and believe me, I know what to look for."

They both listened as the clock in the parlor rang out twelve times, and realized they had been talking for close to two hours. Erik stood and adjusted his clothing over the box, looking down at her with a grim smile.

"I hope you'll reconsider coming to the lake tomorrow. I don't suppose you know how to swim either," he sighed.

"I do so! Jackson is scared of water, that's the only reason he won't swim," she said indignantly. "If you insist, I'll come, but only if Susanna gets in the water, and doesn't spend it sitting on the bank looking pretty."

"You'll have to discuss that with her," he said dryly. "I don't think she ever did as a child, and its doubtful she will now. But someone has to teach Daniel."

"Why can't you?" she looked petulant. "I'm not good around children...holding Elisabeth today sent me into migraines, and Daniel is no better."

He pointed to his face, and gestured to the hairpiece. "Why indeed? Do you think I want to frighten them all? I assure you, it's not a pretty face under here."

"If you marry Susanna, she's going to see it sometime," she said quietly, looking at her feet beneath the blankets. "Sooner or later, Erik, you're going to have to deal with this, just like I am with my problems."

"Goodnight, Lily," he said firmly, not wanting to hear more. It was something he had thought about, and something he wasn't sure they would get past. But he didn't want to dwell on it...for just awhile longer he was content to ignore it. And when the time came...he would do everything in his power to stop it.

Erik opened the door slowly, relieved to see Emma was not sitting in the hallway. When he reached his room he emptied each vile down the sink, and bent each needle carefully, concealing it all inside his bag for disposal later.

He lay on his bed, looking at the ceiling for several moments then reached for the first letter his father had written to Henri. He needed to know more about these people...about the past...about what they expected of him and what they really thought of what would happen if he returned.

The first one was written before he'd even been born, he realized suddenly. His birthday was in January of 1835...this one was dated November of 1834. With his breath held, he began to read, skimming over the words his father had written so long ago.

"_She lied to me, Henri. And you could have told me as well that she was married..."_

"_She says the child will be raised under her husband's name unless I will take her away...what am I going to do with a married woman and child? I certainly cannot subject a child to that agony...to that scandal. And she refused to leave France in any case. I must return..."_

"_Promise me you will look out for them both. I made a terrible mistake, in telling my mother about the child. She's threatened to disown me if I do not obey..."_

"_Her name is Emma, and she is a beautiful, innocent girl. I have no doubts of her married status, and will begin courtship with her soon. When you hear of the birth, or of any complications, please let me know. You've been a good friend, and I hope you can forgive me for my foolishness. If I had known she was married, I would not have looked twice. May God forgive me for being an ignorant boy, and whoever her husband is, may he forgive us both."_

He folded the letter and read another, this one still before his birth, with the same pleas for forgiveness from God and Adam Dessain. More about Emma and their courtship, which he didn't sound particularly pleased about, and more agony over the responsibility he had cast aside, in favor of propriety. Promises that he would provide whatever she needed medically, and anything else she wanted. Pleas with Henri to look after him and his mother, and hopes that he would keep him updated.

Letter after letter, more of the same. He had been overjoyed to learn that Francine had a boy, and had written a song for the son he hadn't met. He had married Emma on Erik's birthday, despite his mother's protesting, so that he would always have a reason to celebrate the day, even if it was obscure. Guilt, frustration, agony. Love, fear, resentment. All contained within the letters, and spoken with such heartfeltness that Erik had to stop several times and breathe deeply, merely to catch his racing heart.

_December, 1835_

"_I've never met Erik, and I love him more with each passing day. I feel myself becoming bitter and resentful of the new wife I have taken, and no longer desire to accompany her to even the smallest social functions. She accuses me of having a mistress, but in truth, I don't think it would bother her much. My husbandly rights are not welcome, and I would rather do without than force my affection on her..."_

_May, 1838_

"_I've sold another opera, this one will be played in Russia, of all places. Emma has agreed to attend one with me, and I dread having to spend that much time alone with her. I realized too late what a mess I've made of things, and still feel as if I'm with the wrong woman. Should I compare this young girl to the woman who bore my child? That is terribly wrong of me, isn't it? Yet I know that Francine would never have allowed me to treat her this way. I have failed in all aspects except music, and Music is what I shall become. When you see my son...how I wish I could pass my love on to him. He is the only thing I live for, and I fear that he will never even know I exist. Congratulations on the birth of your daughter, Susanna. I know she will make you proud. It pleased me beyond description to know that our sons are friends. I wish I were there, Henri. You'll never understand how much..."_

_September, 1843_

"_Francine has written, asking me to come and meet him. I was so angry with her for contacting me...angry and relieved. But I cannot. I fear what will happen when I lay my eyes on him. I fear that I would not be able to let go of him, and the last thing I want to do is take him from the only mother he has ever known. I would do it, as selfish as I have become. And I would force Emma to raise him, although in truth she may not mind. She desperately wants a child..."_

_January, 1844_

"_She has written again, and offered something she knows I cannot turn down. Erik's musical talents. Why didn't you tell me? I suppose you knew how much it would torment me, but I am coming this summer to meet him. Each day passes, and I count down to the moment when I can hear him play, see his smile, and feel his arms around my neck. I know that I cannot claim him yet...I will one day, but for now I will content myself with getting to know him, and hoping he will love me and be able to forgive me one day..."_

_September, 1844_

"_My fate has been sealed. She effectively prepared a nine year old boy for the father that he will never have. I told you while I was there how much it hurt...I must pretend to be something I am not. Or rather, something less than what I am. A music teacher, nothing more. It will be another eight or nine months before I see Erik again, and I only hope this summer was enough for him. I know that it wasn't enough for me, but I have obligations at home. I wish I had the desire to salvage my marriage, but I fear it will remain the same. Two people bound together, as unpassionate and unfamiliar with one another as perfect strangers. Emma deserves so much better than me. So does Erik..."_

Erik pulled the letters out that remained before the fire. He didn't want to read the ones that had been written afterwards just yet...he wasn't sure if he was ready to read them at all, and there were a large stack of them. Four were left from winter of 1844 to the spring before the fire. Four letters in two years, that talked about the second time his father had come, and his disappointment that Francine had not allowed him to take him to Paris with him to see the opera. She hadn't allowed his father much of anything, except their music lessons every week. And it also said that his mother had been attempting to start an affair with him again, despite his firm refusals that he was married and would not dishonor his vows. He read the last one, from April of 1846, four months before Adam Dessain had come and destroyed his plans for pursuing a more solid relationship with him.

"_The memories of the last two summers barely sustain me. Erik no longer needs me to teach him anything...I knew that the first time I heard him play, and I fear I will lose him as a student, and never have a chance to have him as a son. Already his childhood is fading. He'll be eleven this year! Eleven, and I have never heard the words from him I have longed for. Only during the times I sit beside him on the piano, when he is absorbed in the music can I allow myself to hope and dream that he will say them. Is it too much to ask? Three words. Foolish words, are they not? Why should I need them to complete me? I am going to ask Francine again to let me take him home with me. Surely a year is not too long...and he will have the best opportunities that I can afford. He can attend a real opera...have a private tutor...I am not belittling you in the slightest, Henri. You've done wonders for him, although I do wish you would stop encouraging architecture. He's going to be a composer, and if Francine doesn't stop this nonsense about him becoming a soldier, I fear I will scream at the boy next time. I am at my wit's end. If I cannot have more of him after this summer, then there will be a struggle between Francine and I, and I hope I can prevent Erik becoming hurt by it. She keeps him from me, hoping I will allow them both into my life. Only allowing me the music lessons, and nothing more. Talk to her Henri, if you can. She listens to you, if she's ever bothered to listen to anyone. Tell her how much I love him. Tell her how much Erik means to me, and that I must have more of him in my life. The madness must end."_


	61. Two Dogs

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

The summer sun beat on his shoulders relentlessly as he led Cesar from the building site to Susanna's cottage. He hadn't bothered her for lunch, suddenly too nervous to see her again after all that they had shared last night. And he still wasn't certain what they would do about the swimming situation. He had gone and purchased a pair of swimming trunks, and had adjusted the band on the mask before he left this morning. It was tighter than normal, digging into his scalp and face on all sides. The hairpiece would probably be fine as long as he didn't dive under the water, and the image of it floating off his head was enough to make sure that didn't happen.

After reading until three in the morning, then rising at six for work, he felt exhausted. But the idea of spending a few hours with Susanna at the lake was enough to dispel any complaints he had. There was every possibility that she would let him kiss her, and it was worth whatever price his tired body had to pay for the chance. He had worked later than usual, sending the rest of the men home early when he heard them complaining of the heat. Jackson had not come downstairs for breakfast, and he hadn't bothered to wake him for work. If he was that concerned about it, he would learn to control his drinking urges, the same as Lily would give up needing to numb her mind whenever her day went wrong.

He hesitated before knocking on the door, unsure if it was proper or not for him to enter now that he was no longer a guest. Daniel opened the door, displaying a toothless smile.

"Do you see it?" he demanded, not pointing out the obvious.

"Are you missing something?" he asked casually, tilting his head back to peer at him. "Don't you normally wear glasses?"

"No-o-o-o."

"Hmmm," he said, stepping inside to see Jackson sitting at the kitchen table holding Elisabeth. "A top hat then? Or maybe it's...well...are you missing a _tooth_, Daniel?"

"Uncle Jackson pulled it out! And I didn't cry!"

"Congratulations. I assume tonight you'll be visited by the tooth mouse," Erik said, giving Jackson a wry grin.

"Tooth mouse?" Jackson laughed. "Don't you mean the tooth fairy? Whoever heard of a tooth mouse?"

"Only a Brit would change a perfectly good story," Susanna said, coming out of the library. "Daniel knows about the tooth mouse, don't you?"

"Yes, and he's going to leave me a franc under my pillow tonight!" he nearly shouted, clapping his hands. "And tonight you're going to teach me to swim, aren't you Erik?"

Susanna hadn't been able to convince him otherwise, and had tried to tell him he may have to be content with wading, but Lily had offered to teach him, only to be told that girls didn't know how to swim.

Erik hesitated a moment, then nodded. "I'll show you a few things. But...where is Lily? She promised to come."

"I'm here," she said dryly from behind him. "And I'll have you know that the swimming suits for ladies are horrible. I mean, who wants to wear a knee length wool dress and trousers in the middle of summer? And once it gets wet," she snorted, "I'll be lucky if I'm able to walk, let alone stand up from the weight."

"You could always go-"

"Jackson!" Susanna said sharply, giving him a schoolteacher look. "We'll make do with what we have. Thank you, very much."

Erik looked at them both, clad in what looked like hideously uncomfortable wool dresses, which would conceal and preserve modesty, but probably wouldn't be much fun to swim in. Not that the one he had bought from the store in town would be any better, although he had cut the legs just above the knee rather than wearing them ankle length, and opted out of the matching woolen shirt. Lily had a pair of scissors, and was slicing away at the skirts around her belted top, ridding herself of excess weight and what would probably be cumbersome if she was really intending on swimming.

"Now, I told Erik last night if I came out here that you had to swim as well, Susanna," Lily muttered, struggling with the bottom ruffle of the dress. "So if I have to adjust yours as well, then I'll do whatever it takes to get you into the water."

"Ah, well, my hair," she started, looked at Erik, then blushed. "If it gets wet, it turns into an enormous tangled mess, and becomes a giant ball of fuzz if I don't allow it to dry properly."

"Fuzz, shmuzz," Lily gave her a look that said she wasn't about to let it go. "You're getting in. If the Phantom gets in, you're getting in."

"Lily!" Susanna poked her, tilting her head towards Daniel. "Watch what you say around him," she whispered. "He's like an echo waiting to happen."

"Are we all ready?" Erik asked Daniel who looked like he was about to ask what a Phantom was.

"Yes! Let's go!"

In childhood exuberance, he seemed to forget his question and ran out the door, berating the straggling adults for keeping him from swimming, and not questioning why his mother had sidled up to Erik, and silently taken his hand.

They fell behind Jackson, who was holding Elisabeth, and Lily, who was laughing at something Daniel said, becoming comfortably aware of one another as they entered the cooler shade of the forest path on the way to the lake. Susanna listened to his breathing, sounding like a roar in the growing quiet of the woods as everyone else began to disappear from sight. She deliberately slowed them down further just when the lake was visible through the trees, her hand growing damp in his, and her heart racing madly at the feel of his long thumb caressing hers.

"Are you really going to get in the water?" she finally asked, merely to break the silence and to hear his voice.

"I am. Are you?"

"I suppose I'm obligated," she laughed nervously. "I really don't swim very well, despite all the times I've been here. It's my favorite place in the whole world...because we always had so much fun here. You, me, and Derrik. But I've never really swam...just splashed in the water."

"And a fine judge of races," he said softly, "if I remember correctly."

"Oh, that," she blushed. "You know you didn't win half as much as I said you did."

He stopped walking, feigning a look of shock. "I'm shocked. You're saying I'm a poor swimmer?"

She smiled, moving closer. The real reason she had separated them becoming evident as she stood on her toes and kissed him. She sighed as his lips covered hers, her hands slipping around his back and running over the scars, then along his lower back where it was smooth. He smelled like wood shavings and house paint, and she could feel the dampness of his shirt where he had been working all day. How could a man sweat, and work outdoors, and not smell bad? But he didn't. He smelled warm and male, and she pressed her face against his neck and inhaled deeply, feeling him smell her hair as well.

"We're like two dogs," she laughed. "Caught up in smelling one another."

He gave her a slight smile. "Perhaps you should say horses. Horses smell one another face to face. Dogs do not."

She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss, her laughter tickling his senses alive, and making him feel younger and foolish.

"Come on," she finally sighed. "Before they send a search party after us. I haven't talked to Daniel yet...but I will soon. I wanted to discuss it with you first."

Erik took her hand again and led her down the path. "Do you think he'll have a problem with...with us?"

"I honestly don't know. I don't think so...he likes you, very much, but I'm not going to promise that your relationship with him will always be easy. He can be very stubborn sometimes."

"Like you?" he asked, earning a poke in the ribs.

"I'm not stubborn," she insisted with a grin. "I'm always right."


	62. Whatever the Price

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

As soon as they made it to the shore Daniel tore his shirt and shoes off and raced out into the water, immediately soaking his trousers and shouting for Erik to join him. He released Susanna and took his own boots off, then his trousers, feeling strange as Susanna scrutinized his legs which were bare past the knee. He debated whether or not to leave the shirt on, knowing the scars on his back would likely cause questions from Jackson and Lily, and Daniel if he noticed them. Deciding that he would rather answer them than ride home in wet clothing, he took his shirt off and handed it to Susanna's outstretched hand. Knowing the rest of his appearance wasn't unattractive, he stood before her, feeling a measure of satisfaction at the way she looked at him.

Her eyes left his to travel down his bare body, the dark gray swimming trunks coming above his navel and just above his knee doing nothing to conceal what she thought was a very powerful physique. He was tall, long legged, and lean, and was far larger than she realized as he stood over her, looking back at her quietly as she studied him like a piece of horseflesh. With broad shoulders and lean hips, he made her breathless just looking.

"You're blushing, Susanna," Lily called from the shore.

She looked up into his eyes, and noticed they had darkened considerably, his lips parting and appearing fuller than usual. "So I am," she whispered, giving him a smile. "You're very fit, for a man your age."

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm not that old," he protested, looking down at himself. "And you aren't much younger, so I'd watch what I said, if I were you."

"Oh, Erik! You don't jest about a lady's age," Lily snickered. "You should know better, big brother. And if you're going to swim, then swim, and stop dawdling. I didn't come out here to watch you stare at one another."

"Are you coming?" he asked, stepping backwards, barefoot into the cool mud. "I'll toss you in if you don't."

"Later," she promised. "I'm going to rescue my daughter before she winds up with a muddy dress," she indicated Jackson who was holding Elisabeth up by the arms, letting her toes touch the ground. "And I'll come out with you later. Be careful with Daniel...he's never even put his head beneath the water."

"I will," he smiled briefly, then waded out to Daniel.

Lily turned to Susanna after he walked past her, eyes wide, then looked at Jackson, who was also staring. "What the hell did they do to him?" she whispered, her eyes fiery with indignation. "How could they be so cruel?"

Susanna approached her, giving her a wan smile. "They just were, Lily. And you'll have to ask him if you want to know. I think the answer is obvious," she said gently. "It was when he was very young. Those scars are more than twenty years old."

She left her and retrieved Elisabeth, who looked at her with concern as she removed her dress and set her in the mud.

"Mam," she looked annoyed. "Eeew, Mam."

"Play Elisabeth," she murmured. "See?"

Susanna picked up a glob of mud and handed it to her, watching her squish it between her fingers and wipe it on her legs. She laughed at the expression of disgust on her daughter's face, but knew that she really didn't mind getting dirty. She looked up in time to see Erik telling Lily to demonstrate holding her nose as she went under water, and Daniel mimicking the movement as Erik pushed his head down.

He came up sputtering and laughing, demanding that he do it again. Erik glanced up at her and grinned, although she couldn't see his expression clearly from the distance and the glare on the lake. Lily came up laughing, her hair streaming around her as she splashed Daniel with water before Erik dunked him beneath the water. They were only standing about waist deep on Erik, and Daniel was up to his chin each time he came up for air.

"Come on, Mama!" he shouted. "Bring Elisabeth."

Susanna removed her shoes and scooped her daughter up, wading out carefully, hoping she didn't trip with her and send them both beneath the surface. Elisabeth's eyes widened as her toes descended into the water, and then her knees and cloth diaper.

"Mam!" she protested, trying to climb her mother's shoulder.

Erik laughed at the expression of apprehension on the girl's face and reached for her. She gladly abandoned her mother for the safety of being at least a foot more above the water, her legs clinging around his stomach and hands pulling at chest hair for support.

He winced and shifted her to his left hip, gently untangling her hands from the sensitive roots. "You're going to be a coward, just like your mother, aren't you?"

"Coward?" Susanna scoffed. "I'm not a _coward_," she informed him. "I just don't like my hair getting wet. She won't either, since hers is every bit as curly as mine."

She moved forward, her foot slipping down another few inches as the landscape of the lake changed. She stood in front of him, almost chest high on her where it was waist high on him.

"Prove it," Lily challenged, taking Elisabeth from Erik. "Put your head under the water, and we won't call you yellow."

"Really, I don't mind being called a coward," she laughed, changing tactics to try and to get out of it.

"Here," Erik said, placing his thumb and forefinger over his nose. "Close your mouth...and your eyes. It'll be over in a second."

She stared at him, a mutinous look on her face, but closed her mouth. Without another warning his leg slid behind hers even as his arm slipped around her back to catch her. She gripped his arms as her head went beneath the surface, and closed her eyes a split second after the water rushed into her ears. The last thing she saw was his smile before she blinked and went under, feeling the support of his arm around her back. He held her there for more than a second, but when she came up she was laughing, her hair plastered to her head and dress feeling as if it weighed a ton.

"There," he said, sounding particularly satisfied with himself. "Now your reputation is saved. Lily can't call you a coward anymore."

"No," Lily grinned, then said loudly, "but I can call Jackson one."

"I'm not a coward! I'm the most intelligent person in the vicinity, because I'm smart enough not to get mud between my toes," he protested from the shore, not sounding offended at all. "And I'd bet anything Elisabeth would rather be up here with me than out there with you."

Lily carted her to the shore and deposited her on the blanket next to him. "Well, since you volunteered," she said, turning back towards the lake.

"Try the diving tree," Erik called, pointing to the one Susanna had found him in the first day he'd come back.

She scrambled to it, grinning impishly at them as she balanced on the branch that hung over the water.

"Jump to the right," Erik advised. "The water's deeper, and the branches won't tangle on your suit."

Lily, just to be contrary, inched farther out, bounced twice, then jumped off the front of the branch, tucking her knees up around her chest and screaming all the way down.

"Mama, can I do that?" Daniel asked, looking at her hopefully.

"No," they both said in unison.

"But I'll throw you towards the shore," Erik said, trying to make a peace offering. "Here, I'll show you," he said when Daniel looked at him doubtfully.

Erik spun the boy around and lifted him out of the water, instructing him to hold his nose then launching him into the air. Erik grinned at Susanna as Daniel went under, then bounced back up like a cork.

"Again!"

And he did, several more times, until his arms were so tired he couldn't lift him anymore and Susanna saved him by forcing Daniel out of the water to take a rest.

"Was I ever that energetic?" he asked, feeling exhaustion once again take its toll.

"I think you and Derrik combined didn't have that much energy," she replied, moving closer to him. "I don't suppose you have enough energy to throw me?" she teased, then made the mistake of turning around to see if Daniel had made it to shore.

He had her beneath the arms in an instant, hauling her out of the water and into the air. "I always wanted to toss you into this lake," he murmured, giving her a devilish smile. "And you've afforded me the opportunity. Thank you...and...remember to hold your nose."

"Erik!" she shrieked at him, but he was already lifting his arms out of the water, bracing a foot behind himself to throw her farther. She went down in a tangle of heavy woolen skirts and flailing arms and legs, sputtering indignantly as she came up. "Oh! Oh! That was not fair! I can hardly do the same to you!"

Laughing, he started for her, pushing her hair away from her face for her. "I couldn't help myself," he said softly, "and your hair doesn't look hideous at all while it's wet. You're beautiful."

They stared at one another, his hands still smoothing her hair from her face, tucking the wet strands behind her ear, then trailing down her neck to her shoulders. He had tossed her into deeper water, and it came to her chin, although she was standing on her toes to keep her mouth above the surface. Beneath the water she put her hands on his hips, sliding up his sides, then back down, her nails skimming his flesh lightly. He closed his eyes at the contact, then glanced towards the shore, grateful that Daniel and Jackson were busy, and Lily was wringing her skirts out and not paying attention either.

"Now who's not playing fair?" he asked, his voice turning husky and deep. "You mustn't...I'll never be able to get out of the water," he laughed shakily, feeling embarrassed at the admission.

She blushed, and removed her hands, stepping sideways towards the shore a few feet. "I wouldn't mind a...private swimming lesson next time," she whispered, her eyes becoming heavy as she thought about it. Pleasure curled inside of her, feeling hot and sweet in the pit of her stomach as she imagined what it would feel like to twine her legs around him in the water. She saw the resounding answer in his green eyes, as he too imagined the possibilities of the two of them alone in the lake.

Erik swallowed the knot in his throat, knowing it would be awhile now before he was able to get. He watched as she turned and slowly walked to the bank, hitching her skirts around her as she struggled to get out of the water. Twice she fell, laughing and becoming more flushed and beautiful as her face became animated. Twice his jaw tightened, and his chest tightened, and every other part of his body tensed as he saw how beautiful she was.

And she wanted a private swimming lesson. She wanted him... he could tell. But not half as much as he wanted her, and not just in a physical manner. He wanted Susanna. Wanted to claim her...wanted to kiss her every day. To hear her laughter, and let her flood his senses with her brilliant light. He wanted to cherish her, and her children. Need and desire warred inside of him...but right along with fear and trepidation. He wanted her whatever the cost, but he couldn't help but wonder at the price.


	63. Darkness and Fear

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna lay upon the blanket, looking at the fading light from the sky when Erik finally permitted himself to come out of the water. Jackson and Lily had announced they were returning to the cottage to retrieve their horses and go home.

"Are you coming, Erik?" Lily asked, attempting to pin her drying hair into place.

Erik glanced at Susanna, and she shook head slightly. "No," he replied. "I'll be along later."

He hid a smile, feeling like he were conspiring for a liaison, when in reality their chaperons would be two small children. The evening wind was warm, although coming from the water like he had, it chilled his flesh. He sat down next to Susanna, pulling his shirt on but not buttoning it. He could live with the cold, but he felt Lily's eyes on his back once again, and no longer had a desire to explain them.

"I'll be at work tomorrow," Jackson announced. "Sorry about this morning...I had a wee bit much to drink."

Erik slid him a sardonic look, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice. "A _wee _bit much? I had to carry you to your bed last night, while your mother fretted over you as she would a child. It's a good thing you only drooled on me, or I would have tossed you outside rather than into your bed."

Jackson gave him a chagrined look, but didn't apologize. "I'll be there tomorrow," he said solemnly.

After they had left, Susanna continued to stare at the sky, hearing Erik answer Daniel's questions about fireflies.

"And they don't bite?" he asked skeptically, although it was something she had told him last summer.

Erik cupped his hand out and palmed one, showing it to the curious boy. "Not at all. I'm not even sure if they have teeth. They're a beetle...a very special beetle, that can make light. Would you like to hold it?"

"No."

Erik chuckled softly, "Elisabeth isn't scared of it, are you, girl?"

Susanna turned her head just in time to see him hand it to her. Elisabeth stared at it in wonder for several moments, her eyes widening as the green light blinked on her fingers.

"O-o-o-h."

"Erik, I don't think that's such a good idea," Susanna said softly.

He glanced back at her, "Why not? It can't hurt her."

"No...but she's likely to eat it. She has a fondness for bugs."

Just as he turned back around to look, her mouth was already opening and her hand moving towards it. Reacting quickly he blew on the bug, causing it to fly off. Elisabeth blinked at him, her face breaking into a pitiful, unhappy expression.

"Erk," she said, sounding thoroughly disgruntled. "Eeew, Erk."

"It wouldn't have tasted good," he said wryly, although his words did not appease her even slightly.

Displeased, she crawled across the blanket and scampered over her mother's stomach, causing Susanna to grunt under the weight and shift to the left when a well landed foot caught her in the chest. Satisfied, the girl lay down next to her mother, burying her face against her neck.

"Mam?"

"It's alright. He didn't mean to make your bug fly off," she said soothingly. "And it probably wouldn't have tasted good, but that didn't matter to you, did it?"

"You would have let her eat it?" he asked, surprised.

"Mama says it's better than her eating spiders," Daniel informed him. "And she tries to eat a lot of them. She ate a firefly a few days ago, and it made her mouth green," he said, laughing.

"Eeew," Erik commented, causing Susanna to laugh.

"She isn't the only one who ate bugs though," she said, "Daniel ate his share...and he wasn't in the least frightened of them at one time."

Embarrassed, Daniel lay down and hid his face in shame. "I don't remember," he protested half heartedly, "and Elisabeth eats more than I ever did."

"How do you know?" Susanna teased him, leaning across Elisabeth to tickle his side. "I thought you didn't remember."

Erik watched their playful banter with a half smile on his lips, wondering if he was in a strange dream that he couldn't awaken from. A strange, beautiful dream that was making him feel almost human...almost like a normal man for the first time. If he wanted them...they were his. If he dared to take that chance, this could be his, he realized. The weight of that knowledge was strong again, and the sharpness he felt in his throat had nothing to do with sexual desire. He watched them until he noticed Elisabeth had drifted off, and Daniel looked tired as well. Lying cautiously on his side, he propped his hand against the left side of his face and watched Susanna's eyes as she looked at the sky.

Slowly, without looking away, she reached for his hand in the dim light. The sun slid beneath the horizon, and at once the crickets began their symphony in the forest. He held her hand loosely, his fingers clasped over the back of hers, his thumb brushing the bones of her hand and wrist.

"Are you thinking about the last time we were here like this?" she whispered, closing her eyes as tears slid from them. "Except we weren't at the lake...we were in the back yard...you, me, and Derrik."

"I wasn't," he confessed, beginning to feel uneasy.

"Do you remember the story?" Susanna asked, turning to look at him. She watched the growing shadows play across the mask, and was unable to see expression on the left side of his face. "Do you remember Aureo?"

"Don't," he warned quietly. "Don't bring that up."

Susanna gave a slight nod, then turned to look at the sky again. She wasn't sure why she brought that up...it had to be painful to have weaved such a story around a father that didn't exist...and to have him show brutality when he finally met him. All his life he had believed Dessain was his father. The injured boy who had fled Artenay had not understood anything about the world...only that his mother was dead, and his father had killed her.

"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

In response he lay on his back, releasing her hand and staring up at the sky as well, remembering too late that he had avoided it all these years. Every damned constellation...every bloody star...it was all a reminder of the foolish boy he had been. He closed his eyes, listening to the music of the forest, and the soft, even breathing of the woman next to him. This life he had left had come back to him...making him feel too much, too fast.

Suddenly he wished for some solitude...she was going to destroy him...and the premonition was getting stronger with each moment.

Emotion choked him each time he allowed it, each time his guard was lowered to permit her touch, or her kind words. If he wasn't careful, there would be no shield left around his heart. She would sneak in, and then be closed inside with his pain and floundering sense of self worth.

"Daniel?" she whispered, then he heard her moving on the blanket, and opened his eyes to see her checking on the children. Both of them appeared to be asleep, and her head turned towards him slowly.

"We should take them back," he said softly, even as she spun on her hip towards him. Anticipation snaked through him, and fire flashed across his skin as her hand settled on his chest.

She slid the shirt open, running her hand across his stomach, then to his side. "Their both asleep. They'll be fine for a few more moments."

Instead of the kiss he expected, she lay down beside him and pressed her head against his shoulder, her arm draped across his body, and her woolen dress soaking his skin again. He closed his eyes, able to feel her warmth through the thick fabric, and felt her draw a lazy, burning circle with her fingers against his rib.

"Have we terrified you yet, Erik?" she questioned. "Was today as difficult as you expected?"

"No," he whispered, although their conversation was entering dangerous territory.

"My father is pleased. He thinks that we've made a good decision, although he knows how hard it may be for us."

"You don't deserve hard. You should have chosen someone that would make your life easy," he muttered, although his hand moved beneath her and settled along her back.

"I didn't choose you. I wasn't looking for anyone," Susanna said quietly, raising her head to look at him. She shifted slightly, so she was staring down at him directly, although the light and shadows of the night made it almost impossible to see anything. The mask stared back at her, white and brilliant, with nothing beneath the eye, only gaping blackness where he was undoubtedly watching her from. "But if I had been looking, I would have chosen you. If you were not here, there would be no one."

Her hand moved from his ribs to his face, and he felt her touch the mask. Immediately he retrieved her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. He tucked it against his chest, aware of the pounding of his heart beneath the flesh. It increased as she braced her hand beside his head and leaned down to kiss him.

Light at first, a hesitant kiss that spoke only of gentleness and sweet restraint, it soon spiraled into darkness and heat, and she pressed her body against his cautiously as she deepened the kiss. He felt controlled by her completely, and marveled that someone so small could render him senseless. Her hand felt so slender and delicate beneath his, but her breathing against his skin bespoke the passion and confidence that she felt. It amplified the lack of his. Her lips were seeking, her tongue searching his mouth in a desperate act of need, and soon her hand had slipped away from his chest, traveling down his body to his stomach. She squeezed his side, but broke away from his mouth, giving a shaky laugh.

"Am I affecting you at all?" she whispered huskily.

"You don't know how much," he whispered back, his own voice sounding rough and deep. "But we can't...you're going to drive me insane, Susanna. I wish..."

She waited expectantly for several moments, then demanded, "What do you wish? Tell me."

_'I wish I were normal'_, he thought. _'I wish things were different...I wish I could make love to you, without my conscience screaming at me. I wish your children were at home, safe in their beds, because even with it shouting at me, I would take you right now.'_

"I wish you wouldn't get yourself so wound up," he said tightly, struggling to sit up. "Especially when I've already told you no."

Susanna set back, feeling stung and hurt. And ashamed. Very ashamed, and she looked at the sleeping forms of her children as proof of why she should be. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, feeling tears in her eyes. "Let's get them back to the house."

Erik cursed himself when he heard the humiliated tone. He hadn't meant to make it sound like that...like she was cheap...like what they were doing was wrong, because of thier unmarried status. Because her children were near. That was part of it...but it wasn't why he needed to push her away.

Susanna stood and picked Elisabeth up, hiding her face against her daughter's neck as she allowed the burning guilt to transform into tears of regret. She listened as Erik put his own clothing on, then took the blanket after he had lifted Daniel onto his shoulder, tucking it around Elisabeth.

In the darkness she followed him home, walking slowly over the familiar path, grateful for the night that concealed her tears. He held the door open for her at the cottage, and she went straight to her room and lay Elisabeth down, closing the door behind her to compose herself and fight with the wet swimming suit. She sat on her bed, dry and dressed, hoping she would hear the door of the cottage open as he left, but it never came.

"Susanna?" her father knocked on the door quietly. "Are you asleep?"

She stood and wiped her eyes again, opening the door. "No. Do you need something?"

"Well...you have a guest," Henri reminded her, looking over her face carefully. "Shall I tell him you've gone to bed?"

"No," she said glumly. "I'll see him off."

"You don't have to sound so enthusiastic," he chided her. "And why don't you feed him before he leaves? He hasn't had anything since breakfast."

"Whose fault is that?" she asked sharply, feeling wounded all over again. He hadn't even bothered to come to lunch...maybe he didn't want this. Maybe she was just an annoying girl to him again, bothering him as much now as she had then.

"It's mine," Erik called quietly from the kitchen.

"Great," she muttered beneath her breath, giving her father a wan smile. "I'll take care of this," she whispered, and kissed his cheek.

Susanna lowered her eyes and walked down the hall, seeing him lounging in a chair at the table. He had undoubtedly heard everything, and it brought her no measure of peace to have him see her like this. Why had she initiated anything with him at all tonight? She was supposed to be courting him, not seducing him, yet he drew her in, and made her want to do wicked things. Things she had sworn she wouldn't do...and he wasn't even aware of what power he had over her.

"You are welcome here for lunch anytime," she said quietly, heating a plate for him in the oven. She felt his eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. "I wouldn't want to force you to be in my company-"

"Stop," he snapped, and she turned to find him glaring at her. He looked over his shoulder at Henri, who promptly disappeared back down the hall. "You're acting childish. I didn't come because I didn't know if I was welcome."

Surprised, she laughed nervously. "How could you think that, after we talked last night? I thought I made it clear what I wanted."

"Women change their minds everyday," he insisted stubbornly. "I know that better than most."

"I'm not like most women," she shot back, then paused for a long moment. "Are you afraid of me?" she whispered suddenly, and watched as he broke eye contact and clenched his fists. "Erik, there's nothing for you to fear. Not from me."

"I fear nothing," he muttered, returning his eyes to her, and looking furious. "Do you understand me? I don't fear anything...especially not a little female like you."

She sat beside him, and he grew more enraged as she took his hand and stared at him in compassion.

"There's more to fear than physical pain. I'm talking about your heart."

"I don't have a heart," he said, narrowing his eyes at her. "Are you going to feed me, or will this analysis take all night?"

"I'll feed you," she promised, laughing silently at his gruffness. "But we're going to have this out, one way or another."

"There's nothing to discuss," he huffed at her. "I don't fear anything. There's nothing...nothing," he repeated, but his tone had gone softer, and he looked away from her.

She leaned across the table and kissed his cheek. "You fear yourself, Erik, and that tells me a great deal about what else you fear."

* * *

Did you miss me? I needed a couple of days off. Hope this long chapter was soothing. 


	64. A Misunderstanding of Fools

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Her statement seemed to annoy him farther. Erik pulled his hand away from hers and stared at the table, a mutinous expression on his face.

"If you had any sense at all, you would stop speaking," Erik growled. He didn't want to hear anything of fear...he had no room for fear in his life. It didn't matter if she spoke the truth. He would never admit to weakness.

"There's nothing wrong with letting another person into your heart," she said softly, watching as he flinched at the words. "You have to give up something, Erik. I can't do all the work here. It doesn't work if I'm the only one who wants this."

"It's not going to work anyway," he muttered beneath his breath, although she heard him. "Why do you want this? Honestly?"

Susanna took a deep breath, and turned away a moment, removing his plate from the oven and setting it before him. She waited until he had a mouthful of food before she began speaking, unable to look at him as she prepared to lay herself open to him. If she expected it from him, then she must do the same.

"We were supposed to get married," she blurted out, wincing when he started to choke.

She watched his eyes begin to water as he coughed, and she hurriedly poured him a glass of wine, patting his back awkwardly until he waved her away with his hand.

"What in the hell are you talking about?" he finally managed to gasp, massaging his throat and taking another drink. He emptied his glass and promptly refilled it, drinking it down again.

"When we were young," she said softly. "The reason I always tagged along after you and Derrik...I was infatuated with you. Derrik knew...everyone did, except you. Even your mother, I think. Everyone knew that when I got older, you were going to be the man I wanted to marry."

Erik opened his mouth, then closed it. Embarrassment plagued him first, then anger.

"I didn't grow up to be that man, Susanna," he said harshly. "I'm about as far removed from that boy as a nun is a prostitute. You need to be more mature about your decisions, because I'm not that man, and I never will be."

He started to rise from his chair, but she placed a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eyes until he sat back down. Feeling crushed, he looked away. She wasn't interested him...she just had some dream, some fantasy of who he had been...who he should have, and could have been.

"I've thought about you for a long time," she admitted, feeling a blush steal across her face. "Even while I was married, you were always part of my dreams. I'm not saying I'm still having those foolish thoughts...I've met you now, as a man, and I realize there is much more to you than that boy who I wanted to save all those years ago. _That _was my dream...especially when I found out what my mother had done to you. I wanted to save you. I still want that."

"I don't need saved," he whispered, "I don't need anything."

"Yes, you do," she insisted. "You need it more than anyone I've ever met. You need people in your life...you need your family." She paused and touched his cheek, smoothing her thumb over his brow and eyelid. "I want you to need me," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I have been alone for a long time. You've been alone for much longer, and we have so much history between us. What you've done in your past is over. Forget all of it, and don't be afraid to forgive yourself."

"Forgive myself?" he scoffed, sliding her a scornful look. "Trust a woman to leave everything to forgiveness and feelings. Needs and desires. I've managed fine without feeling anything, Susanna. I don't need you digging around in my grave."

"You've_ repressed _your feelings," she said calmly, "and I'm hardly digging. You can't control them forever. They will surface sometime, unless you intend on talking to yourself for the rest of your life."

He shot her a severe look. "How do you know about that?"

"Just because you talk to yourself, doesn't mean there's no one around. Not anymore, anyway. Your father heard you talking," she shrugged, "and I know more about you than you might think."

"Meaning?" he bit off, glaring at his plate.

"Meaning I heard what he said about your home beneath the theater. Meaning I don't care, and I still want you to stay. The mask-"

"What about it?" he demanded, leaning forward to look at her. "Want to have a look-see?" he asked sarcastically. "Want to see how handsome I am, madame? That should really inspire a few more kisses...that should make you want to tremble...not in desire...in fear!"

"The mask doesn't matter," she said impatiently. "What's beneath doesn't matter. Would you stop interrupting me? I gave you that plate so you'd do something more productive with your mouth than argue."

He stared at her for a moment, and reluctantly took a bite. Starvation was the only reason he did so again, he told himself. And to appease her, in case she was one of those women who became offended if you didn't eat what they had prepared for you. He finished half his plate before she sighed heavily.

"It seems I've given you a terrible impression of me," she said, feeling uncertain. "I hope...I honestly hope that I haven't made you think I would consider...with any other man, I would never consider what I...," she glanced up at him, her voice becoming a whisper, "...what I offered you. I'm not that sort of woman."

"I know," he said quietly, pushing his plate away. "I never said you were."

"You implied it."

"I know."

Susanna looked away, swallowing a hard knot in her throat. "Then it must be...you must not feel as I do. I'm sorry. I should have realized..."

She stood quickly, turning away from his stunned expression and attempted to retreat to her room. Erik caught her at the hallway, and she held her breath as his hand closed over her wrist. He didn't seem to know what to do with her then, and she hung her head miserably, feeling the sting of rejection for the first time in her life. This was what humiliation felt like...this was what wanting to crawl inside a cave felt like.

Erik stared at her, his hand gripping her more tightly with each passing second. How could she think that? How could she believe that? She was beautiful...and hell yes he wanted her. What man wouldn't?

He glanced down the hallway, seeing a shadow move beneath Henri's door. "Come with me," he commanded softly, and tugged her into the library. He released her to close the doors, and she retreated to the opposite side of the small room, standing behind her father's worktable as if it could protect her somehow.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I understand...I shouldn't have assumed anything. You probably didn't want to hurt my feelings, and really, it's fine. There's no need to explain yourself. I think I understand perfectly now."

"What do you understand?"

She looked at him nervously for a moment, and nodded her head. "I'm...I'm not anything. I'm not talented, musically. I'm not young anymore...not beautiful like...like your soprano, or like Mirela undoubtedly was. I'm a widow, and my children are probably unwelcome in your life, even if they are amusing. Forgive me...please, forgive me..." She stopped as she realized she was babbling, and she couldn't read anything in his face. Uncomfortable silence filled the room, and she tried to make up for it, once again by babbling. "There's no need for us to not be friends, of course. Please...please don't tell anyone what a fool I made of myself, throwing myself at you like that. I completely shamed myself, and...and of course I know you probably won't tell anyone, since you never speak anyway. But I would appreciate it if you wouldn't mention it to Lily, specifically."

"Everyone already believes we're courting," he commented, moving around the table when she wasn't looking.

She made a sound of dismay, and moved towards the window. "Yes. Yes, well, it's still early enough to...to let them know it was all a mistake."

Susanna turned to face him, startled to find him standing directly behind her. Longing shot through her again, and she wondered how could he not feel the same? But the look on his face was one of anger...almost predatory.

"A mistake?" Erik murmured, looking down at her. She looked terrified. She looked like he had felt the night Christine had betrayed him, like she wished time could be turned back so she wouldn't have to make the same choices. So she could prevent herself from exposing herself so openly. "What is it you think, Susanna? That I don't find you attractive?"

She shook her head. "Of course you want that. I mean, any man in your position would want that..."

"A man in my position?" he repeated, advancing on her more.

"I'm talking about...about everything. Marriage, love...the entire concept..."

"Shhh."

Susanna stopped talking as his finger rose to touch her lips. He slid an arm behind her waist and pulled her closer. Thinking he meant to offer comfort, she took it, laying her head against his chest and gripping the fabric of his shirt. Then his hand slid lower, and pressed her against him, and she could feel him hard against her stomach. A harsh breath left his mouth, and he moved against her, his other hand wrapping around several curls and pulling her head back.

"If I had wanted to sate my needs that badly, I would have hired a woman to do it."

"Oh," she whispered, but confused as to why he was still pressing himself against her.

Erik bent his head towards hers, wanting her to see his eyes, and wanting to look into hers. She trembled against him, her hands clutching his shirt tighter, her mouth wide open in shock. He pushed against her again, closing his eyes at the intense, savage feeling that came over him.

"I want you. Do you believe me?"

"Y-yes," she groaned, her teeth beginning to chatter. "But it's not...it's not enough. You don't want anything else, and you won't allow yourself to take something that comes with attachments."

"I want it all," he said fiercely, shaking her shoulders slightly. "You foolish woman, you don't understand anything about me. Don't you understand that _I'm_ trying to save _you_. There's nothing I wouldn't give to have you, right here, right now. I would take you every night," he said hoarsely, looking at the top of her head, then down to her chin, "I would give you everything, and it still wouldn't be enough. My heart. My soul. It would be yours, and things still wouldn't work between us."

"Why?" she whispered, risking disaster by slipping her arms around him. She felt the window sill press against her back, and felt his hard, unrelenting body solidly press against her front.

Erik felt as if there weren't enough air in the world for him. He tried to draw a breath, and couldn't manage it, his lungs failing him consistently each time he was around her.

"Because I don't deserve it, and as soon as I found even a little happiness, you would be taken away from me," Erik said, the words coming out in a dry rasp. "Something would happen, and you would either hate me, or end up hurt. You _will_ betray me, Susanna, but I'll probably do much worse to you."

"I could never hate you," she said in an incredulous tone. "And how could I betray you? I would never do anything to hurt you, Erik."

"You say that now-"

"I'll always say it," she interrupted him with a light kiss to his cheek. "I promise," she whispered, "I won't hurt you. But if this is too hard for you, I won't keep pestering you. I feel like...like that little girl who used to bother you until you gave in, and gave me what I wanted. If you don't want this, then I understand."

"Susanna..."

Words couldn't begin to describe what he wanted. The only way he knew to tell her yes, was to kiss her. He searched her eyes before he lowered his head, finding hers unblinking and glazed with pain. He wanted to take it away, make her understand he wasn't trying to force her away because he didn't want her. Because he did, so much. Every breath, every heartbeat was becoming hers. She was enslaving him, and had no idea how much she was already pulling his strings.

"I do want this...," he whispered against her lips, right before he kissed her.


	65. Needing an Explanation About Everything

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik's knuckles bit into the nape of her neck as he held her head back, his hand clenched tightly in her hair. It was a good thing she was hard headed, otherwise it might have hurt, but the way he shook, restraining himself even as his mouth covered hers in near brutality, made her heart race harder.

_This_ was the kiss she had wanted..._this_ was the wantonness she had felt, and the almost violent meeting of their mouths made her want more. She had thought he didn't understand...that he hadn't wanted this with her, but she could see now how wrong she was. Taking advantage of what he was offering, she ran her hands all across his body, kissing him back with desperation, not caring any longer if he thought she was behaving indecently.

Erik pressed harder against her, his hips mimicking the movement of his mouth, and she made it easier for him, leaning back against the wall and spreading her feet wider. His lips left her mouth, sizzling against her skin as he lowered his head farther to her throat. He kissed the sweet, soft heat of her pulse, breathing deeply against her skin before his mouth moved back to hers.

"This is what I want," he whispered, barely able to speak. "If you're still offering...I will take this, and everything else you will give me."

"When?" Susanna demanded breathlessly.

Amused for some reason, he managed a wry laugh, "Certainly not right now. In fact, I think it might be best if we stop."

"You're always wanting to stop," she muttered, not releasing him. She searched his face, finding acceptance there. Acceptance, and desire. "Tomorrow?"

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. "What about it?" he asked roughly, squeezing her tighter to him.

Susanna shook her head, laughter evident in her eyes. "Do I honestly have to tell you what will happen? I know you've never done this...but you can't-"

"I know what happens," he said gruffly. "It's not as if I've never seen it done before."

The laughter faded from her eyes. "What?"

Erik felt his face turn red from embarrassment. He had no idea why he had said that. She looked at him in confusion, still expecting an answer.

"Ah...the...ah, entertainers in the theater," he stammered, "They weren't discreet..."

She stared at him soberly, unable to think of a sufficient response to that. She didn't want to even think about what he might have witnessed inside those walls.

"Well," she said mildly, "if you come here tomorrow, then we will see how much you learned."

"It wasn't as if I were openly watching them," he protested, feeling mortified at his admission. "I wasn't prying into private rooms. They were on the damned stage! Anyone could have seen them, and I'm sure several besides me did."

"Oh," she nodded hesitantly. "What were they...?" her mouth snapped shut suddenly, and she gave him a slow smile. "Never mind."

Eyeing her suspiciously, he didn't ask what she was going to say, although he thought he knew. If Carlotta had known her stagehand fetish...on the stage... had been witnessed by the Opera Ghost, she probably would have laughed.

"Where are you intending to educate me?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to her mouth.

"I...I hadn't thought of that," she admitted, sighing as his lips pressed against her throat again. "The lake?"

"Too public," he said softly, his tongue swiping at a tender spot below her ear. "And what do you intend to do with your children?"

"You're not very romantic are you?"

He lifted his head, finding her looking at him in consternation. "What? You haven't thought about any of this. Do you intend for your father to keep them while we have a tryst?"

"A tryst?" she demanded, poking her finger at him. "It's only a tryst if we don't go any farther than that. If you're taking everything I'm willing to offer, then there will be more than a tryst!"

"Fine," he corrected. "What do you intend to do with your children while we steal a few moments away and engage in a _possible_ pre-marital liaison?"

She opened her mouth, but couldn't find the right words. When put like that, it sounded horrible. It wasn't supposed to be...not at all.

"I've never done this before," she whispered, looking at him in horror. "This is wrong, isn't it?"

"Perhaps we shouldn't plan it," he said softly. "It shouldn't be an appointment we keep, Susanna. If it happens," he touched her hair briefly, "or when it happens, it will be right for us both."

"Okay," Susanna said reluctantly, realizing he was backing away from her. "Tomorrow is...is Friday. We can do something else, then."

It wouldn't be as much fun, she thought, but at least she wouldn't feel guilty about it. He stared at her, standing just far enough away that they were no longer touching, although she could still feel his arms around her, and the aching in her breasts and groin from the denied pleasure.

"Like what?"

"I...I don't know."

"I'll take you for a horseback ride tomorrow evening. A destination other than the village, of course," he said quietly. "Will that please you?"

"Yes," she said quickly, sending him a grateful smile. "Yes, thank you."

"Would you prefer something a little more energetic? Can you ride well enough to handle Cesar?"

"You...you would let me ride him?" she asked, her eyes brightening. "I've never ridden a horse so powerful...so beautiful. Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'll borrow one of my father's horses," he said softly. "I want something that can keep pace with him, of course."

"You mean in case he runs away?" she asked, feeling slightly nervous.

"He stops on command from me."

"Then I suppose I will see you tomorrow," she murmured, unable to resist one last kiss, and the feel of his arms around her again. "And you are welcome to come to lunch here, Erik. You're welcome here anytime."

"Thank you," he said softly. "And you may visit me at work, if you like. We'll be choosing flooring soon and...," he trailed off, seeing a frown on her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing...I just don't think I'm ready to see it," she whispered. "I don't know if I ever will be."

Silence reigned the room, and her words once again plunged him into doubt.

"If seeing the house would bother you, what makes you think I'm such a suitable candidate for you?" he asked, looking to the right and hiding the mask from her eyes.

"That's different," she said insistently. "That's much different, Erik."

"Is it? No...I think this would be worse," he whispered, running a hand across his face. "If you aren't prepared to see the house, then how could you possibly think you could look at me with indifference?"

"It wouldn't be indifference," she said gently, begging him to look at her again. "It would be with love."

Erik lifted his eyes to hers momentarily, but he glanced away again. He wasn't sure if he had heard her correctly or not...those words had been spoken before by her, but they hadn't meant anything. They couldn't mean anything. And instead of calming him, they had the opposite effect. They terrified him.

"Erik? Did you hear me?" she asked, touching his cheek hesitantly. He felt inexplicably cold against her hand, almost as if he were carved of stone. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said through his teeth. "I should be going. I've bothered you enough for one day."

Her hand around his arm prevented him from leaving. He fixed her with an icy stare that did nothing to deter her. "There's nothing wrong with love, Erik. Why does it terrify you so much? I'm offering it to you...a gift...one you don't even need to return. I love you. I've always loved you."

A muscle leapt in his jaw, but he appeared to remain unmoved by her words. It was agonizing to say them to him, and have him be so unresponsive...so unfeeling. She wasn't sure if she could continue, but she had to say the words, because they'd blazed to life in her suddenly, and she knew how much they affected him, even if he didn't show it.

"I've always loved you, Erik, as a friend," she said, giving him a kiss that he barely returned. "And now I'm falling in love with you as a man."

He swallowed, despite the sharp pressure in his throat, looking at her in bewilderment. "Why?"

Susanna blinked slowly, as surprised by his question as he had been by her announcement. "Why?" she repeated, giving a nervous laugh. "I...I can't explain_ why_ to you. It's a feeling...and not a terribly clear one at that. Must you know the answers to everything? Why I desire you? Why I love you, and want you? Can't you just accept it?"

Erik shook his head at her, his hands gripping her arms tightly. "Why should I? You've given me nothing. Nothing except that you've been lonely, and you for some reason, find me desirable. I won't build another relationship on the assumption that things will work out, merely because I want them to. I always thought...," he stopped, giving her a hard look. "...I always thought that Christine would be mine, and in the end, she hated me. I gave her everything...but she wanted nothing from me. I destroyed any chance I had with her. I did that alone, but somehow I know she wouldn't have loved me anyway."

"Just because she didn't, doesn't mean you weren't worthy of love," Susanna said softly. "Mirela loved you. Your mother loved you with her entire heart. You were everything to her, and I believe she protected you with her last breath. If she had lived," she whispered, caressing his left cheek, "and you had still been injured, can you imagine how different your life would have been? This...this lack of self worth, lack of emotion that you have for everything, would not be real. She would have made sure you knew you deserved love."

"I have emotion," he whispered, looking away from her again. "There's so much inside, but I can't let anything out. It's...it's too dangerous, for everyone."

"Because you've held everything in?" she asked gently.

He nodded, unable to tell her just how much was inside. Afraid if he began, nothing would ever stop. And love wasn't the only thing. It seemed diminished compared to the rage and pain he still felt. Love wasn't even enough to calm him anymore. The savagery of his life had destroyed all hope he had for being a tamed creature. Forever would he be wild, unable to live and function as a man because of the demons of his past.

"You mustn't scowl or become offended when I tell you I think you're handsome," she instructed him, although at her words he did just that. "If you want to know, then you'll listen," she said mildly when he tried to pull away from her.

"Don't attempt to placate me," Erik said harshly. "I don't need or welcome compliments, especially false ones."

"You're tall."

He stared at her for a moment, unsure if he had took her meaning correctly. "That's a compliment?"

She shrugged, "To me, it's better than being short. A fact, if you must have only what you cannot deny. You're tall. Your legs are long. You aren't fat. All very nice qualities. Let's see...your eyes are green, which I've always admired. Should I tell you why I like them? No. That would be an opinion, and you don't seem particularly interested in my opinions. Very well. You have other nice qualities, but since they're also opinions, I won't tell you about them."

"Are you making fun of me?" he asked, sounding uncertain.

"Maybe a little," she confessed, but continued before he could comment. "I find the magic tricks endearing, and I think your music is absolutely beautiful. Even your grouchiness is slightly appealing, because I know that despite all your protesting, you really do want and need affection. I think you're wonderful with my children, even though I could see how much they made you nervous at first. Are these the reasons you needed? I have more...shall I continue?"

"No," he whispered, feeling like he was drowning suddenly. "Thank you, but no."

"But I've saved the best for last," she murmured, twining her arms around his neck. "I love you, Erik, because you make my heart race each time you look at me. Because you've managed to tie my soul into little knots, and I know that beneath this...this facade you display for us all, you're a very passionate man. I want to make you lose that rigid control you impose on yourself...oh, yes...," she smiled when he looked at her in surprise. "...I want to make you lose your control. I want to make you fall in love with me, because I've always gotten what I wanted. And I want you."

Each breath was a struggle, and he was uncertain whether or not his heart was beating. It seemed to have slowed, suspended in his chest with such little activity he thought he might be dying.

"You're too late," he managed to say, although the words were going to cost him dearly. "My heart is yours. Everything I have, everything I am. I belong to you."


	66. Denial

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Friday had dawned cheerlessly gray, the clouds promising rain and the chance of ruining their evening ride. Erik had left Susanna last night, almost immediately after he'd told her those beautiful words that had managed to sweep her off her feet. She smiled, remembering how embarrassed he'd become, although he'd tried desperately not to show how hard those words had been to say. She'd kissed him and sent him on his way, trying to ease his mind about the significance, but she knew he'd been thoroughly off balanced by his confession.

And when he arrived for lunch, he still looked discomposed. Her father led them in a brief prayer, and watched the two of them from beneath his bushy eyebrows, a hint of a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.

"Erik, it looks as if it will rain later today. Are you on schedule as far as construction is going on the house?" Henri asked, "Or do you have a schedule?"

"I do not," he replied slowly. "Actually, I've given everyone the rest of today off. It looks as if the rain will begin in a couple of hours, so I wanted to let them all get home in time. Jackson was especially grateful, which is why he isn't here."

Susanna sent him a questioning smile, to which he responded, "And I've promised to take Susanna for a ride today. I would like to do so before it begins raining, if she is agreeable to an earlier hour than we agreed upon."

"I am," she murmured, meeting Daniel's eye for a moment. He was staring at her expectantly, and she shook her head slightly. "Next time, okay? Perhaps I'll let you ride the horse while he's hitched to the cart on Sunday."

"But I won't be able to make him go where I want," he complained.

"You can ride with me, then," Erik offered. "If you aren't afraid of a big horse like mine."

"Are you going to church with us, Erik?" Daniel asked, his eyes brightening. "Mama says Aunt Lily's going to sing for us on Sunday."

Erik hesitated, looking at Henri, then Susanna. He nodded, "I suppose I will."

He didn't sound or look pleased about it at all. In fact, he looked quite terrified, Susanna thought. It would be the first time he'd willingly put himself in a crowd of people. And considering what little faith he had, it was no doubt the worst possible place for him to do it.

"And will you let me hold the reins?" Daniel demanded. "Mama never lets me hold the reins."

"We'll see," he said dryly, giving him a grin. "Perhaps I'll have a talk with your mother, and see why she won't let you ride that old horse of hers. It's not as if he's ever in a hurry to go anywhere."

She gave him a level gaze, making it clear she wasn't sure about letting her little boy have control of a large horse, all to himself. He gave her one back that said she was treating him like a baby.

"Can I, Mama?"

"I'll think about it," she said, noncommittally. "Finish your lunch, though. I'd like to have my ride completed before the deluge begins."

* * *

"You have to be firm with him," Erik instructed her. "He'll take advantage the moment he knows you aren't paying attention. He's a man's horse...so I suppose you'll need to think like a man to ride him." 

Susanna laughed softly, patting the horse's sleek neck. "Oh, but he probably knows that women are smarter, don't you pretty boy?"

"_Pretty_?" Erik snorted at her, tapping the horse on the ribs. "He's liable to pitch you for calling him pretty. He's powerful. He's magnanimous. He's..."

"A horse?" she supplied sardonically. "Are you going to get on your own, or will we praise the wonder of Cesar all day?"

"Yes, madame," he returned evenly, mounting the solid bay he'd borrowed from his father. "And where are we off to, might I ask?"

"Have you been to the schoolhouse?" she asked, turning the big stallion towards it without asking.

"I've been by it...not inside."

"Would you like to?" she grinned mischievously at him. "I know someone with a key."

"Lead the way," he grinned back. "I hope you aren't planning on teaching me anything inside the..._ahem_...schoolroom."

"I am a schoolteacher," she shot back, although she had no intentions of doing anything remotely resembling what they had started last night.

She guided Cesar towards the school, enjoying the ease that they shared with each other. It was the first time she had ever ridden a horse so eager to go somewhere, and she smiled at Erik in exhilaration at each half prance he took.

"He really wants to let go, doesn't he?"

"If you set him loose, you won't be able to stop him by yourself," he advised, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Do you like him?"

"Very much. He's a lot like his owner," she remarked. "And I'm especially fond of him, of course."

"Of course," he conceded, although he couldn't quite conceal his awkward feelings. In an attempt to steer the conversation away from his discomfort, he asked her how long she'd been teaching.

"I started right after I finished school, actually," she replied. "Papa asked me if I wanted to, since no one seemed inclined to take me off his hands immediately. My mother wanted me to go back to Paris, and I refused. So I started teaching, right up until I married Julien. I started again this past school year, more as a comfort to Daniel than anything, but I have enjoyed it."

"You didn't teach while you were married?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm not sure what the village would have thought of a married woman...a doctor's wife no less...teaching school. But in any case, I had a child anyway, and contented myself with raising him."

"No friends, Susanna?" he asked softly, guiding his horse closer to Cesar. "You sound as if you were lonely during your marriage."

"Sometimes," she admitted, giving him a shy smile. "I did have some friends in the village...not what I'd call close friends, but all the older ladies have always been kind to me. The younger ones...well, they are alright, but I haven't really had someone I'd call a friend except Lily."

"I suppose I could have called the Daroga my friend," he mused. "The police commissioner of Persia," he said when she gave him a questioning look. "The Persian, from the theater. He was my guard, while I worked in Mazanderan."

"You had a guard...and you considered him your friend? Were you a prisoner there?" she whispered.

"More or less," he shrugged. "If I had expressed my intentions to leave, they would have executed me. They never intended on letting me leave there alive."

"Why?" she asked softly, looking at him strangely.

"I designed two palaces, for two different members of royalty while I was there. Betrayal is commonplace there. They would sooner cut out the heart of a family member than have someone do it first. Poisoning is their favorite...they make their wives eat everything they touch first. Each man thought I would sell the secrets of their palace," he shrugged again. "They were right...but I was never offered any money for it. Their intentions at first was to gouge out my eyes, but it seemed better to kill me and be done with it. The Daroga helped me escape."

"He has my gratitude," she said softly. "Are you no longer friends?"

"I will always be in his debt," he replied, looking at her steadily. "And he will always be in mine. But it is better for us both if we don't meet again. Friendship has been built on less than what we have, and stayed strong. I would hate to destroy a perfectly good understanding with him by acknowledging to him that I'm still alive."

"What is your understanding?"

"I won't terrorize anyone else again," he said quietly. "And my ghost will no longer haunt anyone. He knows where I am, I'm sure. But he won't come looking unless he hears of me doing anything wrong."

"How did you end up in Persia anyway? It doesn't seem like the sort of place people just want to live, unless of course, you're from there. Isn't it hot?"

"Hot," he said flatly. "Cold. Dry, and always sandy. The wind blows for miles...it's one of the worst places I've been, and I'm not just talking about the climate. I was in Russia, and the Daroga had been sent by the shah to retrieve me. I went, although I should have known better. But Russia was becoming boring...the same show every night, the same crowd. I went out of boredom, and the promise of money and power."

"Power?" she repeated. "What sort of power?"

"Political power. Europeans looked at me in fear. I couldn't go anywhere in Europe without inciting near riots, even as a young boy. So I went to the Orient, where they were less concerned about what I looked like. But even there, I had problems. When I first settled in Russia, the government was intrigued by my magic shows, and by the musical performances I would give. I even played for a princess on her thirteenth birthday," he smiled slightly. "A little red-haired Russian princess, who wanted to hear stories instead of music. The guards escorted me out of the palace when she expressed her gratitude by giving me a hug, and introduced me to a little device they call a knout. The government of Russia wanted little to do with me after that, and I them. So when Daroga told me I could be an advisor to the shah...and enemy to that particular prince...I accepted."

"What is a knout?" she asked, although she wasn't certain she wanted to know.

"It's a very rigid lash," Erik said grimly. "And it can cut a man to the bone, depending on the strength of the person who wields it."

She shuddered visibly, her back tensing merely thinking about it. "Those scars..."

"Most of them are from Danoir," he said quietly. "But the largest ones owe accolades to the Russian government."

"They beat you for a girl giving you a hug?" Susanna asked, anger in her voice. "Why? Why would they do something like that?" she demanded.

"She was royalty, and I was worse than a Russian peasant to them," he said flatly. "And they're a superstitious lot. Most people are. It was actually better for me not to wear the mask while I was in Russia, because I was feared more without it, which was a good thing. They didn't bother me as much."

"How many different people have done this to you?" she whispered, thoroughly appalled by the abuse he'd faced in his past.

"After I escaped from Danoir, a cage no longer held me," he replied. "I've been imprisoned since then though, but I always escaped. In nearly every province, in nearly every country, before I went to the Orient, people have captured, or attempted to capture me. But since I left Russia, no one has dared to lay a hand on me, although a few have tried."

She reached across the space between their horses and touched his arm. "You will find peace here," she whispered, her eyes bright with tears. "I promise, Erik. You will find acceptance, and no one will hurt you again."

Susanna held his hand until they reached the schoolhouse, releasing it only when he dismounted and lifted her from the saddle. He pressed a brief kiss to her cheek, giving her a reluctant smile.

"Shall we, schoolteacher?" he asked, a hint of mocking in his voice.

She unlocked the door, waiting until he had secured the horses and walked up the steps to her. "It hasn't changed much," she said softly, opening the doors wide to let out the stifling air. "The Boef's were kind enough to put a new roof on a few years ago, and most of the town pitched in money for labor and materials, although not many volunteered for the actual work."

Erik stepped through the door, closing his eyes at the smell of lemon oil and chalk dust. They had replaced a few of the desks, but it seemed as if most of them were the same. He strode to his old seat, and knelt beside it, studying a corner of it with intensity. "This is the same one," he said, awe in his voice. "The very same." He traced a finger over the initials, glancing up at her to find her smiling.

"Yes, my father wouldn't have let me change anything, even if I had wanted to."

She watched as he turned to Derrik's desk, his finger tracing the initials of D.A. loves R.K.

"Ruth Kessler," he said slowly, looking up at her with wide eyes.

"Ugly Ruth," she confirmed gravely. "Only, she isn't ugly at all. She's actually a very beautiful lady."

He knelt beside the desk, silent as he thought of his friend. His throat tightened suddenly, wondering if Derrik had lived, if he would have ever gotten to kiss her. Something he had in common with his friend, even in death, was that he'd never been kissed. Not until Christine anyway. Derrik had never been kissed. He would never know a woman...never have children. Never be a husband. All the things he was desperately struggling to achieve, Derrik would never have, no matter what.

"Did she marry?" he whispered, feeling tears hit his hand, and realizing they were his own.

"Yes. She's the minister's wife. You'll see her on Sunday."

He nodded, too weak to argue. It hurt terribly to realize he'd barely been living, when Derrik had never even had a chance. He felt Susanna's hand on his shoulder, and turned his face towards hers.

She was crying too, and her arms went around him suddenly, in desperation to grieve with him.

"I miss him, Suzie," he rasped, his voice muffled as he pressed his face against her neck. "I miss him so damned much...I miss them both."

"I know. I miss them too."

Susanna held him, feeling his shoulders shake, and his breathing harsh against her neck. Even now, he struggled not to let it out. Even in this moment, when it should have come natural, he was suppressing his emotions inside.

She did not have any such control. Tears slid from her eyes, and she sobbed and hiccuped noisily in his arms, feeling as if the world had stopped for her to let go of some of her pain. She hid hers too, only it came forth in dreams instead of conscious anger like his.

"You can cry," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his neck. "It's alright to let go, Erik."

"No," he said tightly, his lips finding her skin as well. "Not for me. I would rather...," he lifted his head, brushing at his cheek impatiently. He looked around the room for a moment, struggling to regain his composure as she watched him deny his true feelings. "I would rather play. I hope your piano is in tune."


	67. No Next Time

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik sat down and depressed the keys, satisfied that it was relatively well tuned. Uncomfortable with her standing behind him, he moved aside enough so that she would sit beside him on the bench. She smiled hesitantly at him, her eyes still raw from crying, her lips swollen and nose reddened.

"I've been told you teach music," he said softly, chuckling when she grimaced.

"I sing silly songs to amuse the younger children. I would hardly call it music."

"I don't suppose you'd care to play?"

She shook her head vehemently. "Oh, no. Please, I'd rather not make your ears bleed."

He turned towards the piano, rechecking several keys for good measure.

"Then I shall play for you."

Deciding he really didn't want to descend into depression for the rest of the day, he settled on something lighter, something moving. Something he had not written himself, but was equally beautiful. He watched her as he played, his breath catching as her eyes remained on his hands, although she occasionally glanced up at him and gave him a nervous smile. She finally relaxed, her face looking less sorrowful as he continued, and he leaned over and kissed her without missing a note, the playful kiss he intended not quite reaching it's mark, and turning into something slightly more maddening.

Susanna's arm slipped around his back, and she rested her head against his shoulder as he played, eyes closed as she became absorbed by the music around her. He was flawless, absolutely perfect. She had heard nearly each member of his family at the piano, but none had affected her quite like he did. The beauty of his music, and the passion with which he played was breathtaking. The notes resounded in her soul long after they died away, and his fingers slid from the keys.

"Did you write that?" she murmured after several long minutes of listening to his deep breathing beside her.

"No. It was a composition of my father's. The first song he ever taught me."

She lifted her head, regarding him with her innocent blue eyes. "Do you remember them all?"

"Yes."

"How do you feel about him?" she asked gently. "Are you getting along, or merely tolerating him?"

He gave her a wry smile, "I merely tolerate everyone. But I haven't tried to choke him again, if that's what you mean."

"It wasn't," she said, her mouth twitching slightly. "He does love you, you know."

Erik hesitated, remembering how the letters Henri had given him had caused his insides to twist in agony. A sarcastic comment would be so much better, but he found himself replying, "I know. I read some of the letters...your father gave them to me."

She smiled and laid her head against his shoulder, not wanting to press him farther about it. He would come to it in his own time, and nothing she could say would force him to admit anything. She didn't want to. She wanted him to open up, all on his own.

"Sunday..."

"Yes?" she asked, raising her head to look at him. "You don't have to come, you know. I would like you to, of course, but it isn't necessary immediately."

"I promised Daniel," he said quietly. "And Lily will be singing."

"We'll all be there," she said reassuringly. "Do you feel comfortable around us now?"

He hesitated a moment, but nodded. "I'm still...I still avoid his wife," he muttered, looking away. "I don't know why. She makes me nervous."

"Emma?" Susanna asked, looking at him shock. "_Emma_ makes_ you_ nervous?"

Erik grimaced, but nodded. How could he explain what he felt each time the woman had smiled at him during dinner, or offered a warm caress against his back? She set him on edge each time he passed her in the hallway, or she greeted him during breakfast. She was kind, and polite, and he could sense that she wanted to do more than the formal hug she had given him the first night he had met her. Like the ones she gave Jackson all the time, that he returned with fervor, or the ones she gave Lily, who rolled her eyes behind her back, but accepted them all the same.

"Does she make you nervous, or guilty?" Susanna asked after several moments.

"Guilty?" he repeated, looking at her warily. "I've never done anything to her."

"No," she said gently, "not guilt towards her, but to your mother."

He inhaled sharply as the words found root in his heart. He hadn't realized the source of his discomfort...but it was clear now. Guilt. He felt guilty, because his mother was no longer around, and Emma was technically her replacement. His heart squeezed inside his chest, and he struggled to remain sitting beside her, when what he really wanted to do was bolt. Clenching the piano bench helped, a little.

"I think Francine would have liked her," Susanna murmured. "I know for certain that she wouldn't have wanted you to deny yourself the chance-"

"Chance to what?" he interrupted sharply. "I already have a mother."

"I know," she said quietly. "Nothing, and no one will ever replace her. I wish my mother had been like her. Every mother should have been like yours. But Emma is a wonderful lady as well. I'm not saying you should call her your mother, but she has always thought of you as a son."

He glanced at her, startled, then his face grew tight with anger. "No," he whispered coldly. "I can't. My mother should have had her place. She should have been safe and protected...my father should have married her. That house should be hers."

"Your mother was already married," she reminded him. "And none of this was Emma's fault. She didn't even know about you until you were already gone."

"They could have divorced," he began, his tone taking on a desperate edge. "They should have married. It doesn't matter...," he lowered his eyes, "...that I'm illegitimate. I don't care about that. They should have married, and he could have taken us both away. He could have-"

"He could have done a lot of things, Erik," she said gently, reaching up to caress his cheek. "And your mother could have done them as well. Don't blame either one of them. Don't blame Emma." She kissed him once on the lips, looking at him with a wan smile. "Most of all, don't blame yourself. And don't commit the rest of your life to what ifs. They will hurt you in a thousand ways, and you will still have to face reality."

"My reality," he said, laughing harshly.

"I am part of your reality now," she said firmly, pulling a clenched fist into her lap. "You're safe with me. You're alive...after all these years of living in darkness, you're alive. Keep thinking about that. Know that your life is truly beginning now...and don't see it as a constant struggle to exist." Susanna saw his eyes flicker over her face, like green flints that softened into gentling stone. "I love you," she whispered, feeling her heart expand inside, and her blood sing from sweet mercy.

"Suzie."

Erik sighed her name, and pulled her against him. Not into a kiss, but a gentle embrace that made her love wind higher for him, and her spirit soar with greater wings. Everything about him was familiar to her now. He was inside her heart so firmly, she knew nothing could extract him from her life.

She felt his fingers brush through her hair, then the weight of something pressed against the top of her ear. She lifted her hand, and felt the velvety petals of a rose, an instant before she smelled the heady fragrance.

"What is this?" she whispered, touching it reverently, but not removing it.

"I've wanted to see it for awhile," he confessed sheepishly, drawing back to look at her.

"See what?"

Erik merely smiled, taking in the sweet curve of her face, and the suspicious beauty of her eyes. As he suspected, the golden glow of her hair, and the consuming blue of her eyes looked beautiful, only more so with the simple gracefulness of the red rose. Her lips beckoned him, and he heeded their call, feeling the stir of desire in his chest, along with the magnificent pull of love.

* * *

They decided to ride back as thunder began rolling overhead, Susanna calming the nervous black stallion as he pranced along beside the bay gelding that belonged to Colin. They eased out onto the main road, both of them unaware of their surroundings as they looked at one another in long, silent gazes. So unaware, Erik was chagrined when a rider was almost upon them before he ever took notice.

"It's Rand," Susanna said, long before his face was visible.

He glanced at her, not wanting to know how she could recognize him at such a distance.

"His horse," she said wryly. "He's the only one I know with a gray of that size. What?" she asked innocently. "Did you think I've developed psychic powers?"

She blinked at him rapidly, then laughed.

"Or did you think I've memorized him that much? Haven't I made it clear to you both how I feel?"

He shrugged, "Some women simply like to protest."

"And some men are thick skulled," she said evenly. "Nip your jealousy in the bud."

"I'm not jealous."

"Now who's protesting?" she murmured, then turned her attention to the rider advancing on them.

"Good afternoon," Rand called out, halting his horse as they approached. "I see now why my nephew came home early," he grinned slightly. "You're actually letting her handle a horse like this, for a leisure ride?"

"She seems capable," Erik replied, sounding irritated. "Does Eli have a complaint about his day off?"

"No. Eli has been enjoying working with you," he said calmly. "He's never actually been paid to do labor before, and from what I understand, his salary is more than adequate to compensate for a day off."

"He's being paid for it as well."

Rand stared at him thoughtfully, but didn't comment. His eyes swung to Susanna, whose face was flushed, and eyes were bright. A rose nestled in her hair above her ear. She looked happy. Happier than he had seen her, before Julien had died, and after. And the challenging look in Erik's eyes confirmed everything he didn't want to hear. They were together, and quite serious about it. For months he had been pursuing her, and now he knew that even if he had moved sooner, she never would have been his.

It was painful, because he thought she was a stunning woman. But he tilted his head to Erik in acknowledgment, silently telling him that his claim was safe.

Susanna watched it all with carefully concealed laughter, noting that Erik looked ready to fight, and Rand simply looked ready to flee.

"Well," she commented after several long moments, "we were just getting back before the rain begins. I suppose we'll see you on Sunday."

He nodded. "Of course," he said shortly. "Have a pleasant afternoon."

Erik opened his mouth to say something, as if realizing he hadn't said hardly anything during the brief encounter. He shut it again, then finally muttered a polite 'thank you' before he urged his horse forward.

A backward glance revealed the man staring at them both as they rode away.

"Just so you know," she said coyly. "Next time you decide to mark your territory, remember I'm nobody's tree."

"Just so _you_ know," he returned confidently, "there won't be a next time."


	68. Machinations

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"You're sure _he's_ the one? He looks too young," Raymonde said flatly, spitting at the damp earth behind Guinevere's dress.

She glared at him, then moved her skirts away from him. "Yes," she insisted. "He's the one. He killed your brother."

Raymonde shifted his attention to the man in the white mask, who was helping a delicious looking young woman from a nice piece of horseflesh. The woman twined her arms around his neck and kissed him, and he sent her backwards against the muscled horse, pressing his body against hers, his hands roaming across the front of her dress.

Guinevere watched as well. Fascinated. Enraged. Amused. And highly aroused. She watched Erik's hands move across her daughter, and Susanna's corresponding arches against him. Susanna's hands delved lower, and suddenly Erik sprang away from her, shaking his head at her. She sent him a pouting look, and tried again, but he caught her hands and kissed each one.

_'So sweet'_, she thought scornfully.

Raindrops suddenly began to fall, and he removed a cloak from behind the cantle and draped it across her shoulders. With a laugh, and one last kiss, Susanna darted for the house, and Erik watched her for a moment with his hands on his hips, a wry smile on his face.

Eventually he began to unsaddle the horses, and Raymonde gave a low and appreciative whistle.

"After I kill him, I intend to make that little girl just as feisty for me as she was for him."

Guin turned to give him a scathing look. "That's my daughter. Any needs you have, I will take care of."

"Why would I want you?" he grunted, giving her a look of disgust. "She's younger. And prettier."

The shriek of outrage died on her lips as she remembered their hidden position in the forest. She turned her eyes back to Erik, watching in swiftly returning hate as he switched saddles on the horses. She thought it curious, but realized the black horse must have been his all along.

It suited him. He was not the same little boy she had been expecting. She had expected someone weak. Someone _needing_ the protection of Colin Talbot, someone scorned, and afraid to show his face in daylight.

And suddenly he turned to look at the woods, his entire demeanor changing. He looked wary. Capable. Suspicious. He scanned the forest, his eyes seeming to pierce right through her several times, then he turned his back, apparently not worried if there _was_ someone hidden in the trees.

"If you had sobered up sooner, he would have already been taken care of," she whispered viciously. "Your incompetence is astounding."

Instantly she felt the blade of a knife against her throat, and smelled his horrendous breath as he nuzzled her ear. "You keep speaking as if you're in charge of this operation. If you had told me the reason you wanted to come here, I would have sobered up."

'I wish I had thought of it sooner,' she thought, but held her tongue.

"Now, I'm going to go back to that pretty little house of your daughter's, and I'm going to take that pretty little girl that's tied up inside there, and we're going to have some fun," he snickered slightly. "If you're nice, I might even let you join me."

"No!" she whispered forcefully. "She's our bargaining chip. Don't touch her."

"I don't need a bargaining chip. Only a _woman_ needs a scheme to kill a man. I'll kill him, then I'll take both the girl, and your daughter, and any other damned woman I please."

"I need time," she pleaded with him. "I...I need time to see my daughter first. I'll pay you whatever you want."

He grinned suddenly, and the knife fell away from her. "Why didn't you say so? Very well, Guin. I'll give you however much time you need. So long as we don't spend all of it holed up in that house together."

She breathed a sigh of relief, her eyes focusing once more on Erik, who had mounted the black horse, and was leading the bay behind him. He set off towards town, most likely to go back to the Talbot's.

"He looks dangerous," she murmured. "Dangerous...and seductive. Who would have thought little Erik would have grown more handsome than his father?"

"Handsome?" Raymonde scoffed. "If he's so handsome, why does he need to cover half his face up? He looks like a lunatic...that's what he looks like."

"You'll see beneath the mask before this is over with," she promised. "You'll see everything about him, including what his guts look like on the blade of your knife."

* * *

She sat in the cellar, trying to peer into the shadows of the damp underground room. Why had they brought her here? Why? Her dark hair tangled around her face, and she listened quietly as she heard two rats fighting somewhere inside the room with her. She inched her feet away from the noise instinctively, but made no sound. She thought it had been a week since she'd been drugged and taken from her home. A week without sunshine, without a bath. Without anything other than the most disgusting of things to eat. Of course, it could have been longer. She could have been in the darkness for a month, or perhaps only a few days.

But she felt in her heart that it had been a week.

She knew she was far away from Paris, and that she had only been here for a day or possibly two. They had dumped her, still half drugged, and left her tied up, although it hadn't taken her long to free herself. And there was no way out of the cellar. She had already checked, and there wasn't even a window. The floor was made of concrete instead of damp earth. The door was solid, and her only companions were the two rats, who honestly were beginning to get on her nerves.

They squealed, and tumbled together, each protesting the loss of some morsel of food. Calmly she removed her boot and hurled it in the direction of the two rodents, feeling a measure of satisfaction when they scurried away. She heard them in the wall an instant later, but at least she was alone again.

She far preferred her own company than those of rats.

Later she would find her boot, and somehow she would find a way out of this hole. Her hand curled around the weapon in her hand, then reached farther over for the rest of her ammunition.

If she hadn't valued her life, she would have drank it, rather than waste good wine, but it was all she had.

She could either get so drunk she wouldn't care what they intended to do with her, or she could fight back, for once in her life.

It was what Erik would have done, after all.

_Erik._

It had been so long since she had seen him. Somewhere in her drugged memory his name had been spoken by someone. A woman, she thought. Guinevere was her name, and she was a cruel and heartless woman, indeed.

Erik had told her all about Guinevere, and what she hadn't known, she suspected after meeting her. She had imagined him dead after all this time. Dead, or dying of a broken heart. Or dead, murdered by the people who wouldn't understand him, and would fear him for being different.

But apparently he was alive, and once again was being plotted against. Once again, any peace he would have would be disrupted. She had to find a way out of this cell to save him.

This time, she could help him, and she would never forgive herself if she failed.


	69. Congregation

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Saturday stretched endlessly before him. It was a tragedy it was a precursor to Sunday, but still, he couldn't wait for it to be over with. It would be Sunday before he saw Susanna again, which he himself had insisted on. Especially after her stray hands had touched him somewhere no one had before. His mind burned just thinking about it.

"I hope your face doesn't stay that way," Lily said with a smirk.

Erik glanced up to find her watching him, and waited several moments for her to look contrite for mocking his face. She was unusual, in that she shied away from nothing, but did it in a way that wasn't cruel, or even hurtful.

And she rarely apologized for any disparaging comments she made. Oddly, Erik found it refreshing that someone didn't tiptoe around him, and seemed to demand that he do the same. No one had ever been so bold before with him, unless they had been wielding a lash.

"You look perpetually grim," she continued, her foot darting out across the space between them and giving his shin a deft kick. "Try not to look so damned pitiful. It's only church. And besides," she shrugged negligently, "getting to hear me sing will be worth it."

"I've heard you practice," he said pointedly, and when she began to look a little satisfied, he added, "it's nothing I would brag about."

He earned another kick, and this one more forceful. She frowned a moment at him, then decided to do it again, catching him in the exact same spot for three consecutive times.

"If you keep that up, I may boo you out of the church," he said with a sneer, but moved his legs out of her reach.

"And to think," she scoffed at him, "I was going to devise a way for you and Susanna to be alone together for a few days."

"I don't need your help," he said evenly. "_If_ I want to be _alone_ with her, I will figure out a way. Not that it is your business. At all."

"Now Erik," she grinned at him cheekily, taking delight in his uncomfortable scowl. "I heard you and Jackson talking about going to Orleans to buy supplies for the house. I would love to go shopping...and take Susanna along with me."

He paused for a moment, his mind racing through the many possibilities of that arrangement, trying to hide the interest from his eyes, and failing.

"She needs a break from the children," she said gallantly. "We can all go together."

"Henri can't keep those children while you two go off and have fun."

"No. But Mama can."

He shot her a dark look, intending to tell her that Emma could not keep them while he and Susanna were alone in Orleans, while Jackson and Lily paired off to do God knows what.

"I would love to keep them!" Emma exclaimed, and he turned to see her in the doorway, an expression of delight on her face. "Oh, that sounds wonderful...I mean, I've always loved little Daniel, but I hardly know Elisabeth at all."

"Madame-" he began firmly, but Lily managed to kick him again, possibly as hard as she could.

"It's no trouble," Emma said, looking more excited by the moment. "I would love to keep them. I mean...after all, if you two marry, they will be my grandchildren."

Erik felt a measure of shock tear through him, as he considered the relationship his family would have with Susanna and her children, should they decide to marry. Henri would be bound to him, and Susanna would be bound to his father. And to Jackson and Lily.

But he had no intention of taking her away with him on the pretense of building supplies, when he knew exactly what they would be wanting to do.

"We would need a chaperon, Madame," he began again. "It would not be proper-"

"Colin can go," she said dismissively, "and Jackson and Lily as well. Henri and Susanna both will be delighted to take a break from the children, and I will love it having them underfoot."

He hesitated again, swiftly moving his legs when Lily attempted to kick him again.

"I will ask," he said finally, giving them both a doubtful look. "But it remains to be determined what Susanna...and Henri...will have to say about the arrangement."

* * *

He dressed carefully Sunday morning, feeling more nervous as each second passed by, and wishing he had the black mask to conceal every expression on his face. He was nervous because of all the people, and because he hadn't set foot inside a church since he'd left.

Nervous, because he wasn't sure what would happen when he did. If his resentment and anger toward God would prevent him from sitting through the service, or if the terror he felt at being surrounded by people would finish what little patience he had left.

He was doing this for Susanna...and to prove to himself once and for all that he didn't need church. He had never needed it, and the things he had committed himself to as a child were not real. The things his mother had believed in were not real, and if they had been, hadn't saved her in any case.

"You look fine," Lily said from the doorway, and he glanced back to find her watching him.

"I look like a ghoul."

"Then you are a handsome ghoul," she said, her voice unforgiving. "All those little church ladies will be beating at their breasts, protesting the courtship between you and Susanna." She grinned wickedly, "They're going to want you for themselves."

"You are demented," he said quietly. "No one wants me."

"Susanna wants you. I suspect if you'd bothered to come back here, instead of traveling in foreign circles, there would have been quite a few women willing to sacrifice their virtue to have their kisses stolen by a masked man."

Impatiently he tugged off his cravat and found another, retying it quickly, and studying it with a scowl.

"Black is black is black," Lily said with a snort. "Stop already, or we're going to be late."

"That would be a tragedy."

"I swear, if Susanna and I have to drag you to a tailor, you're going to wear something other than black," Lily said, looking at him with a critical eye. "You need some color in your life. Green. Red. Blue. Violet."

"I am _not_ going to wear violet. Or any other color," he growled at her, "and you need more color as well, little sister. You look like you're in winter mourning, when you should be wearing some feminine color, and a summer dress."

She ignored him, and turned away as she always did when he suggested something about her life.

He heard her as she went down the hall. "And your natural hair is brown. I should like to see you in something that resembles what you really look like."

Erik's eyes drifted up to the black hairpiece, looking more familiar to him now than his own hair. And more welcome.

No. He would stay as he was. There was no use in trying to change, especially at his age.

This was as good as he was going to get.

With a sigh, he started downstairs, dreading each moment that brought him closer to Hell.

* * *

He'd ridden by on his first day in town, looking at the structure from a distance and absorbing each memory of mischief and laughter that he and Derrik had shared as boys. And of his mother thumping his ear occasionally during the service, forcing him to pay attention. Sliding glances at Derrik, and at Susanna. Making faces at them, and the rare time when his mother would allow them to sit together, making plans for more mischief.

Tying the horse's reins together had been his idea. Setting loose a horde of cats during the service had been Susanna's, although she hadn't participated in the deed. Derrik had come up with many more of his own, although Rand and Jonathan Vallee probably would never be outdone with the harmless rat snakes they had set loose beneath the minister's wife.

It hadn't changed much. At all, really, in twenty four years. The last day he'd been here had been with Colin, the day his father had said goodbye. He looked across the carriage, meeting his father's eyes for a moment, and realized he remembered it too.

He was beginning to believe there was very little Colin didn't remember about him.

The carriage rolled to a halt, and they all got out before him, Jackson peering in at him when he didn't immediately come out.

"Are you coming?"

Erik nodded, finally bracing his hands against the sides of the carriage, moving his shoulders to get out carefully. There were a group of people standing outside the church, some going inside, and he could hear the piano beginning to play a hymn. The music immediately hit him squarely, and he braced himself against the carriage a moment, before turning to untie Cesar from the back.

He had promised Daniel a ride after church, and he intended to keep it.

"Wait for me," he whispered to Jackson before he turned to the horse rail.

A couple of men looked up at him as he tied the stallion, ones he didn't recognize. He met their eyes readily, feeling anger lace through him as they stared at the mask.

"Erik?"

He turned when he heard Rand's voice, his hands clenched so tightly he felt as if he would break his own fingers.

"You remember these two fools, don't you?" he indicated the men who had been staring. "Anthony Corell, and Jean Luc. Gentleman, you remember Colin Talbot's son?"

They both nodded hesitantly, one of them murmuring, "Of course. Good to see you Monsieur...Talbot."

Erik opened his mouth to correct him, but stopped. It wasn't something he had considered, and he wondered now if he should. It felt too strange, too personal.

He felt Rand's hand on his shoulder for a moment, and looked at him in shock. The compassion in his eyes astounded him...and angered him quickly.

"Excuse me," he muttered, rolling his shoulder and knocking the man's hand away. He turned and walked quickly to where Jackson and Colin were still waiting for him, leaving all three men staring.

"Everything alright?" Colin asked, seeing the strain on his son's face.

"Fantastic."

Catching the dry humor in his tone, he wanted to put his arm around him, just like Vallee had done, but wasn't sure if it would be welcome. He didn't know if he could take rejection from his own son.

The last time he'd ever received affection from Erik, it had been near the very spot he stood on. He glanced at the space where he had stood with Francine, as if he could see her there with them. Before he made a fool of himself, he turned around and walked toward the church, hearing Jackson and Erik walking behind him.

Erik followed, seeing heads turning his direction, and the minister standing at the door, with a dark haired woman he identified immediately. She looked at him with wide eyes as his father stopped and spoke with the minister, and he stared back, wondering if Derrik would have ever had the chance to kiss her. Of their own volition, his eyes dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes, and she immediately turned a colorful shade of red, misreading his intentions entirely.

"Madame," he said quietly, inclining his head, then looking at her husband.

"Erik, this is Reverend Emile Lewis, and his wife Ruth. Reverend, my son, Erik," Colin said, although they probably knew by now who he was. There probably wasn't anyone in the village who didn't.

"Good to meet you, Erik," Reverend Lewis said politely, offering his hand.

Surprised, Erik took it slowly, looking at the man with distrust written into every angle of his face.

He didn't so much as glance at Ruth Lewis again, certain she was going to raise a riot over his non-flirtation with her at the door.

"Likewise," he finally said, realizing the man still waited for a response. He shouldered past him, not wanting to exchange any pleasantries with a pious man of God.

He spied Susanna's blond curls almost immediately, seeing she was sitting next to Emma, and a space was saved for him on her other side. She stood, smiling warmly at him when he ventured down the side of the aisle, his long legs carrying him to her side quicker than usual. The burn against the back of his neck, and his face was amplified as he sat next to her and Daniel.

"I thought you weren't coming," she whispered.

"I'm here."

Yes. He was here. Sitting in a church pew, with people sitting behind him, and in front of him. With Daniel beside him, and Elisabeth looking at him from Henri's lap.

He was here, and his hands were trembling uncontrollably, and he could only stare at them, unable to speak, or to even stop their fluttering movements. He could not lift his eyes, for fear of what he would find in the faces of those around him.

Susanna reached across his leg and touched his hand, feeling it cold within her grasp, and still shaking even as she held it. There was no one looking, she realized. They were all carefully avoiding looking, almost as if they were afraid.

"Lily will be playing soon," she commented, trying to ease the tension in his heart. "And she really is lovely."

"Yes."

Erik didn't appear to hear her, or was merely responding to placate her.

"What's wrong with you?" Daniel asked suddenly. "You're hands are shaking, Uncle Erik."

"Daniel," Henri said firmly. "Eyes front."

Erik felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned his head quickly to see who dared touch him. It was Rand Vallee again, looking apologetic as he sank down behind him.

"I was wondering if we might discuss that horse of yours later, Erik," he said, sounding too cheerful to be anything other than annoying.

"He isn't for sale," Erik said stiffly, his eyes remaining on the man warily for several moments. "Keep to your side of the church pew, Vallee, or you're liable to lose your arm."

Rand sat back, holding his hands up defensively, then grinned at Eli who was sitting next to him, and a young girl who looked a lot like Eli. The girl stared at him in fascination, then finally lowered her eyes when he didn't look away.

"I don't want to buy him. I have a mare...thought you might be willing..."

"I'll consider it."

"This is Eli's sister, Rachel. She's one of Susanna and Henri's students," Rand said, nudging the girl when she didn't look up. "Say hello, Rachel."

"Hello," she whispered, glancing up at him for a moment, then back down at her hands.

"Mademoiselle," he replied, then turned back to face the front, stifling the urge to shrug his shoulders as he felt eyes staring at the back of his head.

Susanna turned and spoke to the girl for a few moments, but he drowned out the conversation, thinking of standing up and walking out. Reverend Lewis had just begun making his way to the front, and he felt he lost his chance. He almost sighed, waiting for the shouting to begin, for the man to begin his sermon, and to use the strange presence among the congregation as an example of what evil was, and what you should do if you are determined to go to Hell.

He waited, and when the man began speaking, Erik actually listened.


	70. Salvation is the Key

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Redemption and forgiveness. The young Reverend spoke philosophically, not the raging, tyrannical screaming he had expected to hear. His voice was soft, and he talked about redemption. About forgiveness, of oneself, and of others.

"You must forgive, if you expect to be forgiven."

The words stirred in Erik's heart, and he tried to stamp out the flame of hope that had begun. It was painful...he could no longer accept such irrelevant things in his life. It was too late for God to forgive him.

"And do not be resentful of the things God chooses for you. You are not condemned to Hell, until you have given up. If you turn your back to God. If you harden your heart, then you may never have the chance to be absolved for your sins."

Erik bowed his head, staring at his hands as the man continued to rip away at the foundation of his beliefs. Of the belief that he would never be forgiven. Never be shown mercy. Never deserve anything...ever.

If he could forgive.

And there were many people in his past that would require his forgiveness. And many people who deserved to hear that he was sorry.

He even felt he owed God an apology, for blasphemy, for being resentful of his life, of his fate. He wasn't sure he could do any of it.

It was too late.

Wasn't it?

And even if it wasn't...he still didn't know if he possessed the strength. If he felt sorry for all of the things he had done. Some, yes, he definitely was remorseful over. But not all of it, because of the things that had been done to him.

He would need to forgive practically everyone he had met his entire life, and he knew instantly he did not have the strength or faith for that.

"God will give you strength."

His head snapped up, and he looked at the Reverend again, wondering how this entire sermon had seemed to be devoted to him, most especially. He glanced at Susanna, but her eyes remained forward on the clergyman, and Henri was looking at Elisabeth sternly as she attempted to pry a button off his shirt. The entire congregation was paying attention, except for several unruly children...and Daniel, who had fallen asleep.

Henri shifted his left arm uncomfortably, and Erik moved the boy so that he was leaning against his own arm. He turned his attention back to everyone, spying several people he recognized. The blacksmith, who had taken care of Cesar a few days ago. The little old lady who ran the bookshop in the village. Lucien Boef's parents, as well as the Dumont's who ran the inn. A few of the people seemed vaguely familiar, and he thought they might be the adult versions of the children he had gone to school with.

After a brief prayer, he announced that it was time for Lily Talbot to sing, and there were murmurs of appreciation all around. Lily stood from her place next to Ruth Lewis, and turned to smile at everyone.

"I have chosen _For all thy Saints_, and I prefer to have my brother, Erik accompany me, if you don't mind. Erik, I believe you remember where the piano is."

In that moment all thoughts of forgiveness fled, and he could have gladly throttled her as every head in the congregation turned towards him. Looking at her, he thought she must have planned this from the beginning, and with one look at Susanna, and the rest of the people sitting beside him, he knew they had not known anything about it.

"Erik...," Susanna began, but he immediately silenced her with a look.

He stood up, feeling his hands begin to sweat, and his stomach churn in turmoil as they all looked at him. He would do this. He had to do this, to prove he wasn't a coward, and damn Lily for forcing him into it. Erik gave her a look as he made his way forward, telling her silently that she was not going to be forgiven for her treachery.

"Which piece do you prefer, Lily?" he asked, unable to hide the hostility in his tone.

The entire church stared at them both, and he heard smothered laughter from somewhere in the back. One glance around the room silenced it, and he turned back to Lily with murderous intent.

"Barnby's, please," she said, feeling a little breathless. She wasn't even certain if he would know the tune, but without another word he stalked back to the piano and sat down.

A moment later, he began playing, and she began to sing.

Erik closed his eyes and continued playing, amazed at the power of Lily's voice, and the wonder of her pitch. She was perfect. Better than Christine...better than anyone he had ever heard before. It only irritated him further that she wouldn't make as much of a fool out of herself as he was. She had deliberately held back inside the house while she practiced...but he could see just how talented she was, and combined with the notes he wrought from the old piano, he felt raw inside as he swept his fingers across the keys.

He hadn't played here in a very long time. He had stopped once his father had begun giving him lessons, although he had played for the church before. But he had never felt the presence of God so much. Not as a child, and never as a man.

By the time he finished playing, he could no longer deny the stirring inside his heart, and he silently promised himself that he would not push himself further away from God. He would make amends, in some way, and he would try to earn the right to be forgiven, and to forgive others.

Lily grinned at him as he stopped, and he turned to look at the people in the church, stunned to see many of the women drying their eyes. Even Ruth Lewis, and the Reverend as well. It humbled him...he almost felt like a messenger for once in his life, although he was uncertain why, and what the message was. And who it had been originally intended for.

But Erik felt he had definitely gotten it this time.


	71. A New Sermon

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

After the service, Erik had darted out a side door, avoiding the long line of people waiting to be greeted by Revered Lewis at the main entrance. Susanna followed with Elisabeth at her hip, and Daniel trailing behind her, grumbling because he was already hungry.

She found him beneath a birch tree that stood near the cemetery fence, staring through the iron fence and seeing nothing.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly.

"I've been better," he admitted, turning to look at her over his shoulder. Seeing Daniel looking at him strangely, he forced a wan smile. "Wasn't Aunt Lily a pretty singer today?"

"I fell asleep," Daniel confessed, looking chagrined.

Perhaps the only person in the room who had not witnessed his anguish, Erik thought wryly.

"Are you ready for your ride then?"

Daniel's eyes lit up briefly, then he glanced back at his mother. "What about the picnic?"

"Picnic?" Erik repeated, then looked up at the church.

Sure enough, women had organized food onto several tables, and people were pairing off with plates full of food. No one had mentioned it to him.

"When Reverend Lewis took over the church, Ruth thought it would be a good idea to have a picnic twice a month after the service," Susanna explained. "We don't have to stay..."

Lily and Jackson were sitting beneath a tree at the top of the hill, and his father, Emma, and Henri were all sitting together on the ground.

Swallowing hard, he looked at Susanna, then Daniel, who still looked hopeful.

"I guess the ride will have to wait," he said softly, then watched as Daniel whooped and turned back towards the church.

"I need to go after him before he ruins anything," Susanna said, shifting Elisabeth slightly. "Come with me, Erik."

It would be foolish for him to go. It would look cowardly if he didn't. Resigned once again, he took the girl from her mother's arms and carried her up the hill, steadying Susanna when she stumbled.

He held Elisabeth as Susanna prepared Daniel's plate, then one for herself as well. The girl looked at the table with delight, clapping her hands and drooling so much Erik stepped back so she wouldn't contaminate any food.

"Should I fix her one?" he asked quietly. "Perhaps some potatoes...something soft?"

"If you like," Susanna said, giving him a wide smile. "But you're going to ruin your clothing."

Balancing a child a plate was no easy task, and being stared at while doing it was not fun either.

"Children are a blessing, are they not?"

Erik turned at the sound of Reverend Lewis's voice. "Indeed."

He glanced at him for a moment, then continued down the table, plying Elisabeth's plate with sweets her mother would probably not approve of.

"My wife and I have not been fortunate to have children," the man sighed. "But we remain hopeful that the Lord will grant us at least one. I am glad Susanna is thinking of marrying again. She has been a faithful member of my flock for some time now."

Erik ceased moving, dropping a piece of cake back to the table, ignoring Elisabeth's sound of dismay.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Forgive me, I realize I may be making assumptions based on rumors...but this morning you two were sitting together..."

Years of sarcasm had not managed to leave him, no matter how much he had enjoyed the sermon.

"I didn't realize my life was so interesting," he said, smirking a little. "Perhaps I should publish a novel, so everyone will cease their gossip."

"So you are not marrying?"

"I didn't say that either, Reverend. I've been here for a month now...I would hardly call the short time we have become reacquainted as suitable for a marriage to take place."

"Of course," Reverend Lewis said, not looking embarrassed in the least. "If you do decide...you know where I live of course. The same house that the old minister lived in."

"He died?" Erik questioned suddenly, remembering the gruff old man who had threatened on more than one occasion to box his ears, and the doting woman who had been his wife.

"Yes," Reverend Lewis said, a sad look entering his eyes. "Not but fifteen years ago, and don't think I haven't been compared to that man more times than I should have. Not that he wasn't a good man...I met him a few times, but one gets tired of hearing that Reverend Johnson may not have done things in a certain way."

"Reverend Johnson was...loud."

"He was," the man chuckled, " but I've never been one for screaming at people to catch their attention, much to the consternation of my superiors. I suppose I'm a bit of an oddity in that regard. Most people think I'm a bit...unorthodox."

Erik hesitated a moment, then glanced around to make sure no one was witnessing his conversation with the man. It appeared he was safe, although Elisabeth was beginning to look exasperated as she tried to reach a vegetable.

"I enjoyed your sermon. This is the first time...in twenty four years...that I have dared to step inside a church."

The man seemed unsurprised by this knowledge, and looked at him in a suddenly peaceful way.

"I had another prepared," he said softly. "And this morning, I felt as if God urged me to write another. I'm glad you enjoyed it, Erik. Should you ever need counsel, my door is always open."

* * *

Erik managed to walk away from him, feeling numb and stupefied, and lifted on an unbalanced precipice, where he was unsure how to get down. It was not safe to think about...in no way safe, so he sat down next to Susanna and Lily, and began feeding Elisabeth with calm hands that should have continued shaking. With a blank mind, that raced for miles into nothingness.

"You aren't terribly mad at me, are you Erik?" Lily asked, looking properly miserable.

He glanced at her, shaking his head slightly, no longer having the energy to expend on anger. It had all left him...for once in his life, he was no longer angry, although whether or not it would remain gone was unknown.

"If you're too afraid to thrash her, I'll do it," Jackson offered cheerfully, pushing Lily's head to one side, the way Derrik had done to Susanna to annoy her.

It worked. Lily responded with a vicious pinch on Jackson's leg, and he thought better of retaliating to avoid a scene. Their aggravations to each other often escalated into full blown violence, and now that he was bigger than she was, the most he could do was taunt her until she tired of hitting him.

"No," Erik said, feeling hoarse. He kept his eyes on Elisabeth, watching with growing amusement as her eyes widened when he would send the spoon to her mouth.

"Eeew," she exclaimed, pointing at the cake on her plate. "Erk!"

"She really doesn't need that," Susanna protested, even as Erik cut off a small piece and gave it to her.

But the girl's reaction was enough to make him want to do it again, and her delightful laughter sent his heart back to beating normally. Once he felt composed, he looked up at Susanna, smiling slightly.

"She may not need it, but she wants it," he said, continuing to prove his point with another slice.

"Are you going to eat?" she asked.

Dutifully he ate a slice of Elisabeth's cake, although she looked furious with him for doing it. "I'm not hungry," he said quietly. "Perhaps something later."

"Are you going to ask Susanna if she wants to go with us, Erik?" Lily demanded.

"Go where?" he asked, drawing a blank.

Lily rolled her eyes. "To Orleans. Remember?"

"Orleans?" Susanna repeated. "I can't just go to Orleans."

"Of course you can," Lily said, grinning. "Mama has agreed to take the children, and Papa is going to take us all to Orleans. Promise me you'll come," she pleaded. "I don't want to be surrounded by three grown men. All they'll do on the train is snore and fart."

"Hey!" Jackson protested. "I did that once, and it'll be used against me forever!"

Erik managed to suppress a laugh, although he wasn't sure how. He didn't think he'd heard the word 'fart' since he'd been a boy. Leave it to Lily to repeat something that shouldn't be said, especially while people were eating.

"Erik?"

He glanced up to see Susanna looking at him, a million questions in her blue eyes. "I would like it if you would come," he said softly. "We're leaving tomorrow though. Sorry, this was something unexpected."

"I'll have to ask my father..."

"Of course."

Susanna looked at Lily, "Are you sure your mother doesn't mind...? I've never left them with anyone besides my father."

"Mama has already purchased every toy in the entire village of Artenay...not that it is a great deal. She'll be disappointed if you don't go," Lily said, feeling decidedly smug.

"Then I suppose I'll have to ask nicely, won't I?" Susanna said, feeling a vague, secret thrill shoot through her body.

A few days with Erik in Orleans? Away from her children, and her father?

It was almost too good to be true.


	72. A Dead Man's Contraceptives

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik sought Lucien Boef, needing to tell him about the plans he had for going to Orleans. He found him with his parents, and another group of people he didn't know, although the Dumont's were with them as well.

"Lucien," he nodded briefly to him, then felt Jackson step up beside him. "We're going to Orleans tomorrow for flooring materials, and a few other things. I'm not sure how long we'll be gone, but if you think you can handle it, I'll place you in charge."

"Of course," Lucien said politely. "But you know my father could order you whatever you like from here."

He glanced at Monsieur Boef, who nodded at him. "Yes. Whatever you want can be ordered from Artenay. You've already paid for enough credit to build another house."

"Perhaps if I don't have time to look thoroughly, I will consider it," he said noncommittally. "My...my father and sister will be going as well, and Madame Croix. I believe they want to go shopping or some nonsense."

Jackson chuckled, "Don't think you won't be dragged into the endeavor, Erik. If Lily has her way, we won't have time to look at flooring materials."

"Who said Lily would get her way?" he grumbled. "Besides, I'm not going to be led around the nose by a woman."

The remark got several chuckles out of the men, although the women didn't look all that impressed with his comment.

Madame Dumont smiled at him nervously. "We'll see how long it takes Susanna to put a ring through your nose, Erik. I suspect it will be long before you ever have one on your finger."

Erik glanced at her, startled at the teasing manner. He'd never been teased by a woman before. Except Lily, and Susanna. Taunted? Yes. Mocked? Yes. Never subtle teasing, and he wasn't sure how to take it. He merely nodded, although he wasn't certain it was the correct response.

Shouldn't he have defended himself, or something?

Madame Dumont had been in the village for ages. She'd been old even when he had been a boy, and didn't seem to have changed at all in the last twenty four years. She used to give any child that came through the doors of the inn as many cookies as they could hold, with the stern promise that they would not tell anyone where they had gotten them.

Not that everyone hadn't known.

"Do you have any specific instructions, monsieur?" Lucien asked, interrupting his thoughts of cookies.

He hesitated a moment, then said in a lowered voice. "You could keep an eye on the Allard's cottage while we're gone. Henri will most likely be there alone, unless he decides to come with us. And try to finish painting before I get back. I'm eager to be done with it."

"Of course."

"What are you going to do with the house, Erik?" Monsieur Boef asked. "Lucien says you won't be living there."

"I suppose I'll give it away."

"Give it _away_?" Monsieur Boef repeated, shock evident on his face. "Why...I mean..._why_...?"

"I don't want to live there," Erik said simply. "And it wouldn't feel right to sell it. I didn't build it for profit."

They all stared at him as if he'd grown to heads, but he shrugged. "If you know someone in need of a house, it'll be finished within the month."

* * *

Susanna watched the delight in Daniel's face as he sat with Erik on his horse. As if he sensed something had changed, the stallion walked placidly along beside the cart as they rode to the cottage together. Erik, for the most part, had been silent ever since church. A distant look in his eyes, and a change in his facial expressions. From anxiety...to weariness.

For the most part he had ignored everyone, although when Lily had announced that he would be playing with her, she had thought her heart would stop. But it had been so moving to watch them together. Lily was always wonderful to hear, but to see Erik playing piano with her...it was indescribable. Colin and Emma both had shed tears, unknowingly to themselves, and most of the people around had been as well, including herself.

The idea of going to Orleans had stuck in her mind, and she was determined to go. Erik had given her a long look earlier, the question in his eyes evident, of whether or not they would find Orleans to be the right moment for them both. In her heart, she knew it was, despite the place she had just come from, no longer could she deny the powerful pull that she felt toward Erik. Not that she had ever tried to deny it in the first place. But now she wanted to see how much pull he felt toward her.

"You're awfully quiet," she heard Erik say, and she turned to find him watching her.

"I'm not the only one," she returned, smiling a little. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head slightly, then turned his attention back to Daniel, realigning the boy's reins to give Cesar more slack.

"Just tired," he finally said. "I feel as if I will never have another ounce of energy."

Immediately concerned, she offered to take Daniel.

"No." He shook his head again. "Not that sort of tired. I feel as if I've lost something."

He glanced at his hands helplessly, unsure how to explain the anger that had left him so rapidly, leaving him feeling incomplete and unsure.

"Did you lose your pocket watch, Uncle Erik?" Daniel asked, tilting his head back to look at him. "Pap-paw lost his pocket watch one time, but it didn't make him feel tired. Just worrisome."

Erik managed a smile, amazed that each word the boy spoke to him could dispel fears he didn't know he had. The acceptance of a child was something to behold.

"No, it wasn't a pocket watch. But I don't expect to miss it in any case."

By the time they made it to the cottage, Daniel had released the reins entirely and fallen asleep again. His head rested against Erik's chest, and his hands hung limply at his sides. Erik dismounted carefully and pulled the boy down to him, wondering if his heart would ever stop hammering inside when he was holding either one of the children. It was strange, as if their innocence was ensured when he held them. He would never do anything to hurt them...and he felt so protective of them it was almost agonizing to leave them.

Elizabeth especially had some sort of spell over him, with eyes and hair like her mother's. Not that Daniel didn't, with his impertinent questions and precocious nature.

He carried the boy inside and lay him in his own bed, then stopped at the sight of Susanna in her room across the hall, rocking Elisabeth gently. She looked up at him as he leaned in the doorway, and a sudden tension began between them. A nervous energy so clear that the air fairly sparked.

And Erik felt sparks inside as he met her eyes, knowing Susanna felt the same. He didn't dare cross the threshold of her room, but instead finally let his gaze wander around, taking in the blue cream and linen bed, and the simple furniture that made up the rest of the room. The mirror still hung on the wall, exactly where it had been the night he had ran away. The night he had first gotten a glimpse of his new face, and the terror and misery that followed.

Oddly he felt nothing as he looked at it, although he could not see his reflection.

"Erik...do you mind?" Susanna asked softly, indicating the sleeping child in her arms.

Immediately he moved forward and knelt beside her, not taking her at first, just looking at her in her mother's arms. Susanna stared at him expectantly, but he said nothing, just had a look in his eyes that made her want to kiss him.

A look of tenderness, and undisguised longing. She lifted her hand to his cheek, caressing the smooth skin, and feeling the heat beneath the flesh. He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to her hand, capturing hers in his.

"What are you thinking about?" she murmured, entranced by the look on his face.

He opened his eyes, looking at her with intensity and passion. "I'm not thinking of anything," he returned softly. "I'm hearing music for the first time...in a long time. Perhaps for the first time ever."

She shook her head, not understanding.

Erik leaned forward, placing her hand across his chest. "Music inside. I've never felt this way before, Susanna. You have given me peace. You, and Elisabeth," he whispered, touching the girl's soft curls for a moment, "and Daniel. I don't know if it will last...but for today...I have felt peace. And...and love."

Susanna leaned forward, holding Elisabeth tightly to her chest, and kissed him softly. He sighed, brushing his hand against her cheek, and kissing her gently. Sweetly. He wanted to forget everything but her. He wanted to forget his past, to discard himself of the life before, and embrace this woman and her family. He wanted to embrace his own...to belong somewhere again. To be part of something, instead of constantly struggling by himself.

Erik wanted to make Susanna his, in every way. To be her protector, her lover. To be there for her, and the children. He kissed her again, deeper, and whispered her name. Susanna's eyes turned darker blue, and she answered him by saying his own name.

The sound of a dog barking caused them to pull apart, both breathless and excited. Erik cleared his throat, and finally took the girl from her mother, laying her in the cradle and staring down at her as Susanna covered her with a blanket.

"What do you think your father will say?" he asked quietly.

"For the chance to be away from these two for a few days?" she chuckled. "I think he will probably say yes."

"When we go...," he began, his eyes flickering over her face for a moment, then back down at the child. "You have to know that I would want you...but we can't risk...until we are ready, of course."

He indicated the child sleeping before them, unable to say the words.

"There are ways to prevent a child," Susanna said softly. "I was a doctor's wife, remember?"

Erik nodded, still not looking at her. "I've heard..."

She removed the house key from around her neck, handing it to him. "If you like, there are some in Julien's office. He gave them to his patients..."

Erik colored visibly, looking at the key with an expression of comical horror on his face. He shook his head, unwilling to touch the key, but she held it out to him determinedly. "They aren't among his personal things. They were for his practice. Take it. You don't even have to tell me if you go or not. Just take the key...and you may decide later if you want to go."

"Susanna..."

"Do you want to purchase some, then?"

He glanced up at her, his mouth opening, then closing again. He shook his head vehemently.

"Then take it."

"Maybe we should wait...," he began, a note of finality to his voice.

Susanna leaned forward and took his hand, a gleaming look in her eyes. "We will wait. Till we get to Orleans. And there we will decide if the time is right. Now, go, before it gets dark. Maybe the ride to the village will clear your mind of any doubts."

She pressed the key into his hand, giving him one last kiss.

Erik walked out the door, dumbfounded once again, his mind racing as he rode to the village. He wondered what to do with the key...if he would have the nerve to sort through a dead husband's things, to find something he could use to prevent having a child with his widow.

It felt wrong...beyond wrong.

But by the time he reached the outskirts of Artenay, the image of her in Orleans was too tempting. He rode past the Talbot house, and through the main street, beyond to the house north of town.


	73. A Wild Rose

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Raymonde listened to the girl making noises in the cellar. Guin had been gone for four hours, doing whatever scheming she needed to get her daughter beneath her thumb, and he was getting impatient with her already. It had been two days, and she hadn't even bothered going to see her, just insisted that they continue to hide in this mausoleum that still belonged to her daughter and her dead husband. If it weren't for the ready supply of drugs in the little office, or the supply of wine in the cellar, he would have already murdered the masked man, and taken what he wanted from the little dark haired beauty below him.

He thumped his boot on the floor, "Shut up, you little witch, or I'll come down there with you."

A moment of silence then a throaty laugh. "Perhaps I want you to, Raymonde. There is an endless cache of wine down here...sure you don't want another bottle?"

She had given him three the night before, backing up against the wall of the cellar while he perused the labels, looking for the best ones. If Guin hadn't been standing at the top of the stairs, he would have done more than pick a bottle...but she was gone now.

"Come on Raymonde. I can do more for you than Guinevere could."

"How do you know our names, you little witch?" he muttered.

"I'm not deaf...but I am beautiful. Sure you don't want to come down here?" she asked, sounding particularly seductive. "I'm so lonely, you know. All this wine I've been drinking...I feel so very...very..."

"Very what?" he demanded.

Silence followed, although he could hear a loud sigh. Immediately his blood began to stir, and he pushed away from the table, stumbling a little as he made his way out the kitchen door then around to the cellar doors. He heard the sound of a horse approaching then, and ducked beneath the overgrown hedges. Slowly he eased backwards, opening the door to the cellar and slipping inside, forgetting about the girl.

She crouched in a small alcove that ran along the edge of the staircase, waiting patiently as he walked backwards down the stairs. She thought it odd, but realized he must be listening for Guinevere, although she hadn't heard anything out of her nearly all day. Just as he stepped past her, she whispered his name, a half second before she brought the bottle of wine across the front of his face, knocking him the rest of the way down the stairs, flat on his back.

He didn't so much as move, or make a sound, and she climbed nimbly down from her perch. The bottle had cracked, but didn't break, and experimentally she tossed it towards his head, smiling in satisfaction as it landed bottoms up directly on his nose, and he still didn't move.

She nearly gave a triumphant shout, until she heard the sound of boots above her head.

* * *

Erik listened, certain he heard something, but couldn't detect where the source of the noise had come from. It was obvious someone had been inside the house, from the bottles of wine everywhere, and the fact that most of the dust covers had been removed from the furniture. Apprehension snaked up his spine, and the hair on his neck began to stand. He sensed someone was nearby...but he was weaponless at the moment. Unless they had a gun, he was not worried.

He located his mission quickly, tucking the box inside his coat automatically, not even wanting to look at it, or inside. It was also obvious someone had raided Julien Croix's supply of medicine, and with a pain in his heart, he hoped it wasn't Lily. Although he could not imagine her drinking seven bottles of wine, or coming into Susanna's home and taking anything.

Of course, if she was desperate, anything was possible.

A thorough search of the house revealed nothing, other than the bedrooms had been used recently, and clothing was strewn all across it, as well as the scent of perfume and sex in the air.

Had some man brought his lady friend inside, and allowed her to go through Susanna's things, and taken her in Susanna's marriage bed? Although, holding up some of the gowns, he could not imagine Susanna wearing something that looked like that. Perhaps she had worn them when she had been married to Julien Croix.

Hearing hoof beats, he strode to the window quickly, peering down into the yard just in time to catch Cesar racing towards the road, catching a glimpse of what looked like a woman riding him hellbent towards Artenay.

With a curse, he threw down the dress he had been holding, and stormed outside, knowing it would be too late to catch them, even if he had another horse with which to give chase. Feeling furious, he set off towards town.

Woman or not, they were going to regret stealing his horse.

* * *

He responded beautifully. He was magnificent, a black devil that would race like the wind and give himself up for his master's honor. And whoever had been inside that house was no doubt going to be very irritated with her, although she had no intentions of getting caught. Her mind was on Erik, and finding out where that witch that kidnapped her was.

She rode him as far as the edge of town, veering off quickly to the side of the road and dismounting. Her only goal had been to get away from that house, and she had achieved it. She had no wish to compound her problems by being dubbed a horse thief, so she led the gleaming black horse to the edge of the woods and tied him there. A horse like this would attract too much attention. If she needed another, she would find one later.

"Wait for your master," she whispered, stroking his neck softly. "Give him my regrets...if you please."

She bent and plucked a wild rose from a vine, and tangled it skillfully in the long mane. A peace offering for whoever the owner was...perhaps he would not send soldiers after her. Perhaps he hadn't even seen her, although she had heard shouting well before the first mile had been reached.

Patting him one last time, she slipped through the woods, running nimbly over fallen branches, lifting her skirts high as she ran, remembering such carefree days when she had been a girl, although then she had been barefoot. She ran until she was exhausted, and she could make out a house through the trees. A few houses, actually, and realized she was on the edge of the small village. Backtracking carefully, she made her way down to a small stream, finding a rock outcrop and hiding beneath it. She would make certain it was safe before she ventured into the village. She would find out somehow where Erik was, if he was even around, and then she would tell anyone who would listen what they planned to do to him.

If anyone cared. Sadly, she realized they might not. And if she was in his hometown of Artenay, which she thought she must be, then there was a chance they all remembered him. There was every chance they all feared and hated him...but with a fervent prayer, she hoped that it was not true.

"Erik," she whispered his name, closing her eyes and seeing his face. His poor face. "Hold out for me. Don't let them hurt you again."

* * *

"And he was just waiting for you there?" his father repeated, looking at the horse.

"Right on the edge of town," Erik said, lifting the red rose to show him again. "I'm certain it was a woman...who else would have left this in his mane? Although I don't know why she would take him like that...only to leave him for me to find. It doesn't make any sense."

Colin looked at the black stallion, as if willing him to speak and give them all the answers. Jackson and Rand Vallee exchanged a look, and Jackson snickered slightly.

"You must have a secret admirer, brother."

Erik scowled, tossing the rose towards Jackson's feet. It landed on Rand's boot, and Rand picked it up, a wry smile on his face.

"Well, what did she look like?" Jackson continued, nudging Rand slightly.

"I'm not even certain it was a _she_," Erik said patiently. "And if you make one comment about a man leaving that for me, I'll knock you out."

"But you did see her?" Colin asked, a look of confusion on his face.

"Briefly. I was upstairs, trying to figure out what to do about the mess of Susanna's house. There's clothing strung everywhere...wine bottles everywhere. It's as if someone has been living there. I heard the horse, and looked down...all I could see was that she had a lot of hair. Dark hair."

"Why were you there in the first place?" Colin asked suddenly.

Erik hoped he was hiding the embarrassment he felt, although he was mortified that his mission was going to become so public. "I was checking to make sure no one had bothered anything. For Susanna. Henri was worried about vagrants recently...it seems his fears were well founded."

"Did you check the cellar?" Rand asked, touching the petals of the flower.

"Cellar?" Erik repeated, frowning. "I didn't know there was a cellar."

"It would be the source of the wine bottles," he explained. "Julien was fond of fine wines."

"Then I suppose I should head back," Erik said, feeling his blood charge again. "Perhaps someone would like to come along...make sure my horse doesn't get stolen again."

"We'll all go," Colin said firmly. "Whoever was in there may come back. We want to make certain they get the message that the house is not entirely vacant."

They all rode towards the house, Jackson and his father staying behind them slightly, and somehow Rand managed to sidle up alongside him.

"Are you still planning on your trip to Orleans?"

"If all goes accordingly," Erik said reluctantly.

"If you like, your horse can stay at my farm, cover my mare a few times while you're gone. I'll pay whatever stud fee you see reasonable."

"What sort of mare are you wanting to use?" Erik asked. "I'd hate to waste his beauty on an ugly mare."

Rand laughed, nodding his head slightly. "I don't think he would complain too much even if she were hideous, but I assure you the mare is a beauty. A thoroughbred, as black as he is, although not as spirited. I think they would make a nice pair."

"If anything happens to him, I'll throttle you myself," Erik said, giving him a look of warning. "He isn't to be ridden by anyone...under no circumstances."

"I can live with that."

"You may come and get him tomorrow sometime from my father's stable. If anything happens..."

"I know," Rand said dryly. "You'll throttle me."

"I'll take your gray, and that black mare, and any other horse you have on your property."

"Well, if you throttle me, I don't suppose I'll care one way or the other."


	74. The Body in the Cellar

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik descended the stairs in the cellar slowly, immediately smelling a sickening combination of blood, wine, and other smells he was certain he did not want to be smelling. The enormous man sprawled at the bottom of the stairs gazed up at the ceiling, an expression of eternal rest...or eternal damnation on his face.

"Is he dead?" Jackson whispered, looking at the body with an odd mixture of fascination and revulsion. He had never seen a dead body before...it was nothing like he had imagined.

"Yes."

Erik stepped the rest of the way down, his boots stopping just short of the congealed blood and busted wine bottle. He glanced up the stairs, seeing three grave faces looking at the body in horror.

"Do you think that woman did this to him?" his father asked, stepping away involuntarily, and realizing there was nowhere to go because Rand Vallee was behind him.

"From the smell...I would say one of them has been kept down here for some time," Erik said flatly. "If he was keeping her...then she must have done what was necessary to get away from him. It would explain why she stole my horse. Where does one go to report something of this nature?"

"The authorities in Orleans would be the most helpful," Rand said softly. "Was anything missing from the house?"

"Unless she was keeping money somewhere, then no, I don't believe so. Although someone helped themselves to an ample supply of Dr. Croix's drugs."

"Well...," Colin said, putting an edge in his voice. "There's nothing left to see here, boys. We may as well go look at the house one more time, and secure it. Susanna would appreciate it if we would-"

"We can't leave the body," Erik interrupted him. "It'll be smelling twice as worse in here tomorrow. We need to take him outside, then send an undertaker here or something. And...if that woman was the prisoner, then it really isn't necessary to mention her, is it?"

They all stared at him a moment, as if not reporting something like this was beyond their comprehension.

"Look, if he was keeping a girl captive, he only got what he deserved. He's dead, and that can't be changed. Do any of you recognize him?"

"I don't think his own mother would recognize him," Jackson said, staring at the face covered in blood, at the nose that seemed to be shoved right up through his brain. "I, for one, don't care what you do with him. As long as I don't have to smell him, or look at him another moment."

Turning, he walked up the stairs, brushing past his father and Rand as he tried to suppress the urge to vomit.

With a grim look on his face that matched Erik's, Rand stepped around Colin and grasped the man's boots. Erik lifted him at the shoulders and hefted him against his chest, feeling the old memories of Persia return at the sight and smell of blood...feeling as if the peace he'd had earlier today was a distant dream. He met Rand's eyes momentarily, and wondered if he was thinking of his brother, Jonathan.

They struggled with their burden, grunting and groaning under the literal dead weight in their arms. By the time they made it up the cellar, all four men were trying not to gag, Erik included.

Rand set his legs gently on the grass, but Erik gave him no such respect, dropping him to the unforgiving ground and looking away immediately.

Erik started to remove his coat, then remembered what was inside the pocket, and stopped himself just in time. That would _not_ have been fun to explain, and he waited until they were all occupied before he slipped the box into his trouser pockets, removed the rest of his belongings and discarded the coat, covering the man's face in the only show of respect he would get.

"I'm going to ride into town and get the undertaker. You boys can go in and set the house to rights. I'm sure Susanna will want to see it before we leave tomorrow," Colin said quietly.

* * *

While Jackson disposed of the numerous wine bottles, and Rand draped the dust cloths back over the furniture, Erik found himself hanging ladies dresses in an armoire beside a set of man's clothing that was covered in dust from disuse. It seemed strange that Susanna had not taken her dresses, but he hung them, then made the bed, deciding to ignore any evidence of recent sexual activity he might have seen there.

The jewelry was gone, but he suspected she had taken any valuable stuff with her, and only left furniture. Julien's office was in disarray, which wouldn't have been noticeable if he hadn't seen the previous state it had been in, which wasn't necessarily tidy. If Susanna had been upset by having to go through these things herself, she undoubtedly would be when she heard about this. He decided to finish as quickly as possible, and ride out to tell her. It was still early enough that he could bring her tonight if she wished, and she could stay at his father's house. Her and the children, and Henri as well, if necessary.

"Are we finished here?" Jackson asked, "I'm in desperate need of a bath."

"You?" Erik said wryly. "You haven't been handling a dead body."

Jackson shuddered. "I don't care. I need to wash...and shove soap cake inside my nose to rid me of the smell."

"We're done here," Erik confirmed. "And I want a bath as well. However, I have to go out to the Allard's, so enjoy yours."

Jackson headed towards the front door, walking so quickly he may as well have been running, with Rand Vallee following closely behind him. With a final look around, he locked all the doors securely and left.

It was going to be a long ride back to Susanna.

* * *

Guinevere stared in fury at the dead body of Raymonde Dessain. Rage boiled over, and she kicked the corpse in the ribs. "You arrogant fool! You just couldn't leave her alone, could you? Now look what you have done. Now _I _shall have to figure out how to get a knife in that man's throat, or a bullet through his head. You have really foiled things for me, Raymonde. I'm terribly disappointed in you!"

She kicked him again, muttering to herself as she made her way to the house. Oddly, it was locked, and a quick glance showed that someone had been inside cleaning up Ray's messes. Feeling frightened, she locked it back and stepped hastily into the woods to her waiting horse. She would go back to her source. The man who provided her with such useful information since she had arrived...and since she had left Artenay.

In exchange for keeping tabs on her daughter and ex-husband, Jean Labire was allowed to visit her during his frequent trips to Paris, and during the time when she had run a exclusive gentleman's club, had been allowed his choice of girl in her lavish rooms above the casino. She had spent the better part of the morning paying off the tip that Erik had come back by entertaining him while his son Jean Luc was at church.

His indifference to her was infuriating. The only good thing about Ray had been his nondiscriminatory skirt chasing. Guinevere knew her days of beauty had faded, and the only thing she had left was her icy elegance that men still found intriguing. Her hair was false...she dyed it regularly, and even her teeth had loosened, so much that she had lost weight from losing her ability to eat meat. Some of it caused by her decadent life...some caused by Colin Talbot's brutal slap all those years ago.

Her hatred for Erik was only succeeded by her hatred for him.

If it was the last thing she did, she would have her revenge upon them both.


	75. A Tarnished Shrine

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna was putting Daniel to bed when she heard someone knock on the door. Daniel looked up at her questioningly, and she kissed his forehead.

"Go to sleep, son. Pap-paw will get the door," she murmured, then brushed his hair away from his face.

"Are you and Uncle Erik going to Orleans all by yourself?" he asked, frowning a little.

"No. Aunt Lily, and Uncle Jackson...and Monsieur Talbot will be going. Why?"

He shook his head a little, closing his eyes and giving her an embarrassed smile. "Nothing, Mama."

"Would it have bothered you if we had been going alone?" she asked softly, pulling his hand into hers.

Daniel shook his head again, but she could see a worried look in his eyes. He was never like this. Such a carefree child, except the melancholy he sometimes felt when he missed his father.

"I saw Uncle Erik kiss you," he whispered, looking hurt and confused.

Alarmed, she couldn't recall which time he would have witnessed it. Hopefully her son had not seen any of the kisses they had shared the last week, or the frantic and shameless way his mother had behaved.

"When?"

"You were rocking 'Lisbeth to sleep," he murmured, turning his face towards the wall. "Why did Uncle Erik kiss you...like Papa kissed you?"

Susanna's throat tightened with guilt, and with fear. She wanted her son to accept Erik in every way...and now he had found out on his own that their relationship was different than ones she shared with other men. "Did it...did it upset you, Daniel?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper in the silent room.

He didn't appear to know how to respond, so she gathered him in her arms and held him close. He sighed, not appearing to be close to any sort of tantrum.

Hesitantly, she tried to tell him what the kiss had meant.

"Your Papa loved us, Daniel. Very much. You know that, don't you?"

She felt him nod against her, and she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He lay back down on his own, staring up at her with Julien's dark eyes, and she wished she had told him sooner that Erik was going to be courting her.

"Papa went to heaven," Daniel said, with a quiet resolve that broke her heart.

"Yes, he did," she whispered, and felt two tears escape suddenly. "And we will always love him, and always miss him, won't we? He'll always be inside here," she said, pressing two fingers against her son's small chest. "And we won't forget him, because he was a good Papa. And your Papa would want you to be happy, Daniel. He would want me, and Elisabeth to be happy."

"Is Uncle Erik going to marry you?" he asked suddenly.

She felt her shoulders nearly break under the sudden release of tension. It poured from her back, a rolling weight she was glad to shed, and she owed it all to her perceptive child.

"Maybe," she murmured. "Would that bother you?"

"I don't know," he admitted shyly. "Would that make him my Papa?"

"The legal term is stepfather," she said gently. "But if we marry...which has not been decided yet...you may call him whatever you like. I think he would like whatever name you choose for him."

"Uncle Erik said his face looks terrible, and that's why he wears a mask," he announced suddenly. "He told me his face makes people scared of him, and I told him I wouldn't be scared. He let me help him build a house," he said proudly, "and he says I can go back if I don't ask so many questions next time."

Susanna stared at him, unsure of how to respond to anything he said. She had hoped Erik would reprimand Daniel for asking questions...but apparently he had not.

"You mustn't be nosy, Daniel. It's very rude," she finally managed to say.

"I know," he said simply. "But Pap-paw always says if you don't know the answer, ask. So I did."

She hid a wry smile behind a exaggerated yawn, causing him to yawn as well. "Go to sleep, young man. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Mama," he whispered, and was already closing his eyes when she stepped out into the hall.

"Susanna?" she heard her father call from the library. "Come in here. We have a visitor."

Curious, she walked down the hall, catching sight of Erik sitting at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a coffee cup. His eyes looked haunted, and he gave her an uncomfortable smile as she sat down across from him.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, darting glances back and forth between the two men. They both looked ill at ease, and she felt apprehension shoot through her. "Tell me," she demanded, giving them both an exasperated look.

"Someone broke into your house," Erik said quietly. "They've been living there for the past few days...and there was a dead man in your cellar. The occupant, if I'm not mistaken."

Erik watched her face pale, and she sat back against her chair. She looked at them, clearly not understanding what he had said to her. Briefly he told her everything that had happened, as well as the horse thief, and the fact that nothing had been stolen that he knew of, although she would better know the contents of the house.

Still, she said nothing, and her eyes drifted to her hands, which had clenched upon the table. The house had been vandalized...her former home had a dead body inside of it...and someone had likely kept a woman prisoner there inside her cellar. Anger quickly found root inside the empty shell of disbelief. Her eyes raised back to Erik's, and he nearly flinched at the wounded fury he saw there.

"Have the police been notified?" she asked crisply.

"Rand said the best thing to do, is go to Orleans and notify the authorities. There really isn't anything they can do, except take the body, or attempt to identify the man. If nothing was stolen, and nothing destroyed, then they won't attempt to discover anything else. I don't think we should tell them about the girl," he finished quietly, looking into her eyes as he said it. "She is probably traumatized, and did what she could to escape. She gave me back Cesar, so it proves she is not a thief...just frightened."

"How did he die?" she whispered, looking back at her hands.

Erik hesitated, then looked at Henri, who nodded. "It appears she struck him with a bottle of wine. He probably also hit his head when he landed at the bottom of the stairs. From the numerous bottles Jackson disposed of, it's likely he was going back for more...or to...to perhaps hurt her. I'm sorry, Susanna," he said gently. "If you like, we can take the children, and you can all come with me to the Talbot's to spend the night, and see the house for yourself. Or you can come in the morning. Whatever you want, I'll do."

"The children are already asleep," Henri said quietly. "Why don't you just take her, Erik? I'll bring the children first thing in the morning, and if you'll show me what you wish to take to Orleans, I'll bring it as well."

"Should I go?" she asked numbly, looking at her father helplessly.

"You are the owner of the house," Henri reminded her. "It would be best if you reported the...accident...if that's what you wish to call it, Erik."

"It's up to Susanna," Erik said quietly. "I just thought the woman deserved a chance to get away, if she's been held captive. Even if she did hit him...he probably did much worse to her."

Susanna nodded, "Yes. God help her, whoever she is. An accident then, and God forgive me if it was anything more than her attempting to escape."

* * *

She rode behind Erik, clinging to his waist as the stallion loped smoothly toward town. If she had ridden the gelding, it would have taken half the night, which they did not have. If they had attempted to make him run, she would have had her teeth jarred loose from the rough gait, but the stallion was so smooth it was like she was barely moving. She pressed her cheek to Erik's shirt, loving the feel of the muscles in his back against her skin, and lean waist in her arms. He kept one hand firmly fastened around hers, making sure she didn't lose her grip on him, not that it was possible. They rode right through the middle of town, although it was dusk and no one was around on Sunday evening.

The house was lit up when they reached it, and with relief she saw that Rand and Colin were still there, although the body thankfully was not. Erik helped her down off Cesar, and she grimaced as she felt her windblown hair, knowing she probably looked frightful. Not that anyone was paying attention, but she climbed the steps to her former home, feeling a strange deja vu entering the house after dark.

She hadn't been here at night since Julien had died, and she tried to turn off the sadness she felt, and the feelings of longing and regret that washed over her, finding it nearly impossible. Especially after her conversation with Daniel tonight.

Making a rambling pilgrimage through the house, she touched her old things with a sense of melancholy and sadness, remembering things about her husband she had forgotten, and knowing in time she would probably forget them entirely. The men stayed outside as she drifted through the house aimlessly, stopping in the nursery and sitting on the window seat to look at Daniel's cradle. She had left it all here, almost as a shrine. Afraid to touch it...afraid to remember...and afraid to destroy it.

Getting rid of these things had meant she would have to let go...and to sacrifice her freedom by announcing she was ready to move on. Until Erik had come along, she hadn't been anywhere near ready.

After a long time, she became aware that Erik was standing in the doorway watching her, although in the darkness she could not see his face.

"He used to come up here and sit after he lost a patient," she said softly. "It always affected him so strongly, and he began to hate his profession, just as much as he loved it. But he would come in here and watch Daniel sleep, and pray that he never had to see his son suffer the way he had to watch other people suffer. He told me if either one of us died, he would never treat another person ever again. If he failed us, he would give up being a doctor." She swallowed a painful lump in her throat, feeling hot tears slide down her face. "In the end...he only failed himself."

Erik hesitated before going to her side, unsure what to do...how to help her grieve. It seemed only natural to put his arms around her, and he was so grateful that she accepted he nearly wept himself. If she had pulled away, he wouldn't have had the confidence to ever approach her again.

Susanna sniffled and hiccuped in his arms, not feeling the overwhelming pain she expected, just a wave of sadness that was stealing her breath. Erik's arms felt so good around her, and she buried her face in his neck, grateful for his strength.

"I told Daniel about us tonight," she whispered, feeling him tense in her arms. "He's a child...he isn't sure what to expect, but he wasn't unreceptive to the idea. He saw you kiss me today."

Erik pulled away from her, searching her eyes and finding them still wet with unshed tears. He wiped them away gently, and kissed her cheek softly. "I only hope I am enough for him. For Elisabeth. And for you."

"You're wonderful," she murmured, placing her head back on his shoulder. "I love you, Erik. The world does not matter when I'm with you. I feel...I feel secure in your arms. Like nothing could ever hurt me."

"I would never allow it," he said firmly. "Never, Susanna."

Their mouths met in the dark, each seeking comfort and assurance. To feel desire...to feel alive again despite the ugly turn the day had taken. Susanna opened her mouth to his, wanting to be closer to him...wanting more, and knowing it was not yet time for either of them. Erik seemed to sense it as well, and pulled her up to stand beside him, pressing a final kiss to her lips.

"We have a busy day tomorrow," he murmured. "Let's get this place locked back up, and try to get a good night's rest. Things will sort themselves out. They always do."


	76. Morning Pleasantries and Traveling Compa

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna woke up feeling disoriented as she stared at the beautiful canopy above her head, wondering where she was for several moments. She decided, half asleep, wherever she was, it was wonderful because the bed was beautiful and the linens cool even on a warm summer morning. And suddenly her door opened, and she stared in shock as a man came in carrying her trunk. He didn't even glance at her as he set it down, then moved aside as a maid entered.

"Good morning, Madame," the servant said cheerfully. "Your father just brought your things, so when you're ready, I'll help you get dressed."

"Help me get dressed?" Susanna repeated. "I've never had trouble with it before."

She smiled. "That's what your father said. Very well, I shall fix your hair for you, then."

Susanna stared at her for several moment before excitement kicked in her, and she gratefully applied the services of the maid, although modesty won out over her need to have assistance dressing. Julien had provided a housekeeper for her in Paris, but once they had moved to Artenay she had never bothered getting one again, although with a young Daniel, at times she regretted it.

Everyone was eating breakfast when she finally made it down, her father and children included, and she sat next to Erik, ignoring the whistle Lily had given about her hairstyle.

"You shouldn't have allowed me to sleep so late," she said, to no one in particular. "I wouldn't want to be late for our trip."

"How long will you be gone, Mama?" Daniel asked, looking slightly nervous. He'd been excited last night when she told him he'd be staying with Emma for a few days, but now that reality had set in, he didn't look too eager.

"Just a few days, darling," she said reassuringly. "Pap-paw will come visit you, won't you, Pap-paw?"

Henri looked disgruntled for a moment, but nodded. "Of course. I'll come see you tomorrow, first thing."

"And will you bring me back a present?" Daniel demanded.

Everyone laughed, and Susanna gave him a reproachful, school teacher look. "If you're good, I might consider it."

"How will you know if he's been good?" Jackson asked, giving Daniel a wink. "He could be rotten, and you'd still have to buy him something."

Daniel grinned at his co-conspirator, looking far to pleased with that idea.

"Mothers know everything," Emma said, giving him her best stern look. "Don't think you can pull anything on me, young man. I raised two of the worst children in Europe."

Lily laughed, nodding her head. "It's all true. Every word of it."

She met Jackson's eyes for a moment, and her laughter died away as she remembered she was still angry with him. Erik watched the exchange, as did his father, and they looked at each other grimly for a moment. Jackson grew silent, his face losing it's cheerfulness, and he stared at his plate.

"Well," Colin said suddenly, standing up. "When you all finish eating, we have a train to catch. If you'll excuse me."

Henri stood and followed him out of the room, unaware of the uncomfortable party he left at the table.

"Lily...," Jackson began quietly, but she held her hand up.

"Get lost, you little slug," she said with a sneer.

"Lily! Behave yourself, and apologize to your brother. That was very rude," Emma said, dismay evident in her eyes.

Lily raised her chin defiantly and continued eating. Eventually Jackson pushed his chair back and stalked from the room, his face calm, but his heart and stomach in agony. Every time someone mentioned the past...even the innocence of her childhood...Lily became belligerent. He had done nothing, and she still punished him for it. He moved to the parlor, glancing at the clock with a scowl. It was only eight o'clock, and he already wanted a drink.

Jackson stared...and stared...until the look in Lily's eyes came back to haunt him, and he moved forward to the decanter. His trembling hand was poised over it when he glanced behind him in the mirror, and found Erik watching him.

"I don't know why she is still angry with you, but that won't solve your problem."

"Oh? And talking to her has helped me?" Jackson said sarcastically. "Thank you, but I don't need your advice. You two seem to be getting along quite well. Why aren't you comforting her?"

Erik paused, uncertain why he had suddenly decided to play mediator between these two. He wasn't accustomed to comforting anyone...wasn't even sure if he could offer anything that would be useful. He had helped Lily, or at least he thought so, with the drug. But Jackson appeared to have a dependency problem as well.

"Do you want to wind up like that man yesterday?" Erik asked, giving him a sardonic look. "Dead on the floor, struggling for one last drink...one last taste?"

Jackson felt his stomach revolt at the memory, and closed his eyes, seeing blood. "You don't know if that's why he went down there."

"And you don't know that it wasn't. He wouldn't be the first man to meet his end over a bottle and a wench. If you have a desire to succeed in your...artistic endeavors...you might want to consider spending less evenings drowning your misery."

Jackson gave him a wry grin. "All good authors are tortured souls. Maybe I need to spend the next twenty years in a drunken stupor, then I'll have something interesting to write about."

"Perhaps we'll put that on your epitaph. 'He died, a tortured soul, and a good author'. Perhaps we'll let Lily read your eulogy, and she can tell everyone what a bastard she thought you were."

Jackson absorbed the insult, as well as he would have a direct blow to his stomach. He struggled to remain civil, reminding himself that what he felt was of no consequence, as long as Lily was happy. As long has he didn't bother her about the past...she would be fine.

"Ironically, I'm not the bastard, am I?" he said, giving Erik a challenging look.

"Quite so," Erik said, his voice growing softer. "Legally speaking, of course."

"Of course."

Erik stared at Jackson, wondering why he was trying to pick a fight, when he was only trying to help. A year ago...even a month ago, if someone had spoken to him like that, blood would have already been drawn. Instead he felt an odd mixture of irritation and amusement. The boy really didn't want to make him angry...not that he knew which combination of buttons to push. Lily knew them, and very well.

"Have you asked her to forgive you?" Erik asked quietly.

"Too many times to count...and I stopped begging for things when I was a child. She doesn't care. She feels nothing."

Yes. Thanks to the benefit of the drug, she felt nothing. "Try again. You might find her more receptive this time."

"No," Jackson said shortly. "It makes it worse for her...she gets very depressed if I bring it up." He gave Erik a haunted look, "Lily has her own way of coping, and wouldn't appreciate my interference."

"Her own way of coping?" Erik repeated, giving him a piercing look. "You mean chemically, don't you?"

Jackson nodded, his eyes lowering to the floor. "Don't tell anyone...especially Lily. She would never forgive me."

Erik moved closer to Jackson, speaking barely above a whisper. "I already know about the morphine. I took it all from her, and there won't be a next time, do you understand? That stuff was killing her, inside and out, and the fact that you allowed it incenses me to no end. She's still a damned child, and she has much more to look forward to than a life of emptiness. Don't let me ever hear of you allowing her to do something like that again."

Stunned, Jackson could only stare at him. He felt such a weight lift from his shoulders then...the secret burden he had been carrying around for month transferring to Erik. He had known...he had tried to talk to her, and been met with scorn, and promises that if he continued to pester her, she would never speak to him again. If he told their father, she would do much worse, and Lily never broke a promise. He had been terrified she would hurt herself worse, so he had ignored the glazed look in her eyes, and tried very hard not to anger her.

"You took it?" Jackson whispered. "All of it? You're certain?"

"No. But she knows I'm watching her. I know what the effects are...I saw the bruises on her arm. She won't find it easy to dupe me, if she still has some left. As irritable as she's been the last few days, I would say she hasn't managed to obtain more yet."

"She isn't angry with you for knowing?" he asked, feeling certain he didn't want to know. She would hate him forever...rip away his patience and try to destroy what little affection he was able to show her. Lily would never forgive him...but as always, Erik would be favored. By his father, by Lily, by everyone. He had nothing to offer anyone. He never had.

"We have an understanding," Erik said quietly. "So I suggest you talk to her, because I've unplugged her ears, and for once she might listen."

"No," he shook his head sadly. "She will never listen. She blames everything on me. Even the baby. So does everyone else."

* * *

Susanna suppressed tears as the carriage rolled away from the Talbot's, already missing her children. Erik sat across from her, staring with a concerned look on his face. She gave him a wan smile, murmuring about a mother's prerogative to worry for the first time she left her children overnight. And they would be gone for a few nights, at least.

The carriage carried them to a train station just outside of Artenay, and Colin purchased two boxes. One for Jackson and Lily, and one for whoever didn't want to be caught in the crossfires of their imminent argument. Lily was too stubborn to protest, and glared at Jackson with cold indifference. She marched ahead of them all to their box, and shut the door in an unladylike manner. Susanna heard Jackson sigh heavily, and give a last regretful look at the other box before he followed her.

"Am I missing something?" Susanna asked, looking at the two men she was left with.

"Nothing, child, except my desire too put to rest whatever ridiculous squabble those two have," Colin said, keeping his tone light. "It's gone on long enough, and I'm at the end of my rope with them."

Susanna looked at Erik, and he shrugged at her. "I don't know the source of their conflict. Lily has a grudge, and that's all I know."

Colin said nothing, staring out the window, and mourning the loss of his children's innocence. As if for the first time, he felt that he'd failed to provide for his other two children. They were so spiteful with each other...well, really it was only his daughter. She was full of pain and anger, and he had no idea how to help her. And Jackson seemed unaffected by her cruelty, but he had watched him consume more alcohol, more often than a Scotsman.

"We should have brought something to read," Susanna commented, and received no response from neither man. After trying a few more times to draw them into conversation, she stared at the empty seat across from her.

It was going to be a long ride, especially if her traveling companions were a brother and sister who fought, or a father and son who didn't speak.


	77. Certainty

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

The train ride was long, boring, and uneventful. Susanna noticed immediately after they left the train that nothing had changed between Lily and Jackson. They both looked as if they had slept the entire seven hour ride, which would have been a better way to spend it than pretending she slept. She saw Erik slinking backwards, and she glanced around to find several people stopping to stare at him.

"Erik?" she called to him softly, holding her hand out.

He glanced at her, as if surprised she was still there, then looked at her hand as if it were poison. He shook his head slightly, then lifted his eyes back to the people staring. "No."

"Don't be silly," she said firmly. "Take my hand."

"They'll see you," he whispered, and took another step away from her.

"That's the idea."

With her eyes on his steadily, she went to him and took his hand, not allowing him to ignore her in the face of his own insecurity. She wanted him to know that being seen by strangers with him would not shame her. The people of the village were different, but this crowd didn't know either one of them. Let them think what they would.

"Come along, your father has went to hail a carriage to take us to the hotel."

Erik looked around, realizing they were alone, although Jackson and Lily were standing a distance away ignoring one another. A man and woman had stopped to stare at him, and glanced at Susanna for a moment, a look of concern on their face. Another gentleman paused, his hat halfway to his head and gave him a look of distrust. A woman tugged on the arm of a small child, stumbling backwards as she shielded her child from him.

"Erik?"

He glanced back down at Susanna, seeing anger in her eyes, along with pity.

"Smile at me," she commanded him.

"Excuse me?"

"Smile. At me." She repeated, and gave him one to demonstrate. "You look ten years younger, and twice as handsome when you smile. Now do it."

Still, he could not manage one. Not even a nervous or hesitant one.

"Erik?"

"Madame?"

"I'm going to kiss you so hard that your _toes_ blush."

This time he did smile.

* * *

Without asking Colin had gotten them all separate rooms, placing his between Lily and Susanna's, with his sons on either side of the two women. Orleans wasn't quite the metropolis as Paris, so the Metairie Hotel was virtually vacant, although since they were there in the middle of the week, rather than the end, it was to be expected. Erik stood in his corner room, next to Susanna's looking down at the small courtyard below them. Briefly he wondered if his father had realized he had gotten them adjoining rooms, but decided not to mention it.

Everywhere they had gone, people had stared, and Susanna had smiled at him cheerfully the entire time. She had talked, and laughed, and taken his arm, looking happy and in love. Breathless and excited. It was only forced until they left the train station, then she had actually seemed to enjoy herself, losing the worried look she had when they left Artenay. And as soon as she had taken his arm, and he had kept his eyes on her, the stares of those around him ceased to matter. When he looked around the next time, no one had been paying them any attention.

But if Jackson and Lily didn't thaw out soon, it was going to be unpleasant for all of them.

A soft knock came at the adjoining doors, and he strode to it and twisted the lock, finding a grinning Susanna on the other side. "I think this is too good to be true," she murmured, stepping towards him and placing her hands on his chest. "Don't breathe a word of this to anyone. Promise?"

An unintended smile crossed his face, and he nodded slowly. "You have my word, Madame."

Erik's soft words sent shivers along her spine, and gazing into his eyes had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. He bent his head down to kiss her, hot and sweet, and she slid her arms up around his neck, leaning into his heat and strength. She felt his hand on her back, sliding low on her waist as he pulled her against him.

"After dinner I'm going to be exhausted," she whispered. "I'm going to be so tired, I will barely be able to hold my head up, and I'm going to retire early to my room."

"Susanna," Erik said, kissing her mouth again as fire danced throughout his body. "Maybe we should-"

"Shh. You could have argued with me all day long, instead of ignoring me. We don't have to do anything, but I want to be alone with you. Tomorrow Lily is going to pull your father and I into a thousand different directions, while you and Jackson take care of the building materials. We might not see each other until dinner again, and I want to be alone with you. Don't fight me, please."

"Are you certain this is what you want?" he asked, closing his eyes and resting his chin atop her head. He knew it was...there was no doubt in his mind now, but he had to ask. To be sure.

In answer she caught his hand and pressed it against her breast, arching beneath him and groaning when he began to explore her on his own. It was only the third time he had ever touched her there, and the first he had ever dared to do more than what she initiated. Susanna let her hand fall away from his, and she leaned against the wall in the narrow alcove between their rooms, becoming alive as his lips brushed over her neck, and his thumb rolled across her hardened nipple. She clung to his shoulders, pulling him closer against her, wanting more, and his lips blazed back up to hers as he continued to toy with her, searching beneath the neckline of her dress with long fingers until he touched her flesh for the first time.

They both stilled, exhaling harshly as desire and urgent need swirled through them. Their eyes met, each heavy lidded with passion and unfulfilled fantasy. His head bent again and he pressed his face between the valley of her breasts, his teeth biting gently through the dark fabric, holding her as she went limp in his arms. Erik ached with primal, feral excitement, wanting nothing more now than to cast their clothes aside and discover the mystery of her woman's body. To pleasure her, and feel her hands on his flesh.

Susanna felt his hands pushing at her, until she was standing with her back pressed completely against the wall, and he braced her shoulder with one hand as he placed his hips against her stomach. She felt him through her clothing, burning her in a delicious heat.

"We could hurry," she whispered. "Right now, Erik, we could do this _right_ now. End this torment. Make love to me. Please...please."

"I don't want to hurry," he murmured against her skin. "I want this to last forever."

"Longevity is overrated. I'm not going to last forever, and I don't expect you will either the first time."

"That's an insult, isn't it?" he asked, his tone slightly belligerent. He raised his head to look at her, doubt in his eyes at once.

"No. No, not at all," she said gently, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Then it's a challenge," he said, looking at her with cool satisfaction. He would not be denied in this one regard. Everything he had, his looks, his personality. All his life he had felt like less of a man. He would not give in easily.

Suddenly he moved away from her, brushing at his clothes with quick, effective brushes. Her hands reached for him, and he caught them, pressing a kiss to her palms.

"No. You will not continue to torment me...because we are going to wait."

Erik felt more words tie up inside him, like that he wanted to please her. He didn't want to be a disappointment, to her, or to himself. Inadequacy plagued him, and he kept a firm thumb over it until his doubts were minuscule again.

"I meant for me as well," she protested, giving him a sultry smile.

He opened his mouth to tell her something more, but someone knocked on her door. Susanna sprang back inside her room, shutting the door between them to hide their passageway.

"Who is it?" she called, trying to tidy her hair and straighten her clothes.

"It's Colin," came a muffled reply.

She ran towards the mirror, wincing when she saw her lips were swollen, and she looked as though she had been ravished. How embarrassing, to be caught by Erik's father!

He was standing in the hallway, a distracted look on his face, and she kept the door close to her so he couldn't make out the adjoining doors.

"Yes?"

"I was speaking to the hotel clerk, and he told me it wasn't too late to report our...accident this afternoon. Would you like to do so now?"

She hesitated a moment, then nodded. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

Erik's door opened down the hall, and he stepped out and stared at them a moment.

"Something wrong?" he asked softly.

"No. I was...was just going to report the accident this afternoon. Would you like to come?"

"To a gendarme precinct?" Erik whispered, a look of horror in his eyes. "God, no."

Colin frowned at him. "Are you wanted by them, son?"

"If they knew who I was, then yes. But even then, it wouldn't matter," he said flatly. "I've learned to avoid them no matter what the cost. It would be best if they didn't know I was involved."

"Erik...," Colin began, but Erik waved his hand at him impatiently.

"I'm sorry, Susanna. I wish I could accompany you, but it's for the best. I will go anywhere with you, but I will not be interrogated by the gendarmes. And it would become about more than an accident, I assure you."

Nodding her head fearfully, she agreed. The last thing she wanted to do was put Erik in danger, especially over a man they didn't even know.

"Tell me what to say then, quickly. I don't want to make any errors, and I don't want to even mention your presence."


	78. A Close Encounter

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Rand grumbled as he finally made it to the Talbot's stable. A crisis at the farm this morning with Eli and Rachel had prevented him from leaving when he had wanted to. Living alone with two teenagers wasn't easy, and now his hopes of making Susanna his wife and easing his burden was lost. A few more years and both of them would be gone, and he would be on his own again. When Jonathan had brought his two bedraggled children to him nine years ago, he had been terrified of the two of them. Eli had been eight, Rachel only five, and both far too worldly for their own good. Rachel still had terrible nightmares, and he had never dared ask her about them. At first she only allowed Eli to comfort her, but gradually he had been able to hold her as she cried and shook in sweat soaked terror.

He damned his cousin every day for whatever pain he had caused that little girl. And somehow Eli had gotten a glimpse of the dead body in the village, and Rand had finally pried out the reason for their fear.

The man was Raymonde Dessain. Eli and Rachel had been left in his care once, in Paris, while Jonathan stumbled around in a drunken stupor. Apparently Jonathan had decided to get to know his Uncle Ray after their 'father' had told him about Adam. What Rand couldn't figure out was why he was in Artenay...and dead in Susanna's cellar. Rachel had refused to allow Eli to leave, even for him to go to retrieve Erik's horse, and he had ridden out to the building site first to tell Lucien Eli would miss work.

He retrieved Cesar from the stable and left, too tired to consider explaining to Emma Talbot that the identity of Susanna's intruder had been discovered. He was reluctant to admit it in any case, because of Eli and Rachel, but considering the Talbot's ties to the Dessain's, he would at least tell Colin and Erik when they returned.

As he walked along the road, he eyed the beautiful stallion appreciatively. Erik had fine taste in horses. And women, unfortunately. He was a bit of an oddity, to be certain, but not only because of his face. He lacked confidence, and exuded power all at once, and seemed to scorn anyone who tried to get too close. His attempts at befriending him had been met with suspicion, and he really couldn't blame him for that. If he even thought he had a chance with Susanna, he would take it.

"Stop, Monsieur!"

He looked up, surprised to see a creature standing in the road, and squinted his eyes, trying to determine what it was exactly.

"I said stop, damn you. Don't make me tell you again!"

It was a woman, he realized, and quite a dirty one at that. And she was holding a gun...

"Madame, please put that away. I wouldn't want you to injure yourself," he replied, easing his horses closer to her.

"I assure you, I know how to use it," she said pridefully, tossing her dark hair. "I returned him to you last night, safely enough. I'm going to borrow him again."

"Madame?" Rand asked, looking at her in confusion.

"Your horse, you imbecile. The damned horse. Drop his reins, and back away from him," she replied, sounding exasperated. "Quickly now, I don't have much time."

"You stole this horse?" he repeated softly. "You're the girl from the cellar?"

"And you're a man about to lose his teeth, if he doesn't comply with my demands. Drop his reins, and back away."

"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Madame. He has been entrusted to me by a friend," Rand said quietly, remembering Erik's warning. "I realize you may be in some trouble...that man you killed..."

"He's dead?" she asked, her eyes widening. "I only hoped to knock him out. I didn't think I had actually killed him."

"Yes, he's dead. We...we all decided not to mention your presence to the authorities," he said, sounding sincerely concerned.

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to detect the deceit in his manner or tone. He was a handsome enough man, with warm eyes and a kind face. But she had been fooled before.

"Why would you do that?" she asked, sounding suspicious again.

"He was keeping you a prisoner, was he not?"

"What of it?" she asked, her dark eyes becoming guarded. How did she know he wasn't a friend of Guinevere's?

"The lady's house...Susanna Allard...," he began, and she cut him off with a triumphant noise.

"Ah, so that is her connection to this little game," she said, looking suddenly elated. "I had hoped she was in on it, whatever their goal is. What is your angle, Monsieur? Money? Women? Or perhaps you want to see him dead, just like everyone else."

Rand shook his head, not understanding what she was talking about. "Who is going to die? And I don't have any sort of angle on anything. Madame, you are obviously distressed."

"I have changed my mind," she said sharply. "I want both horses. That way, you cannot pursue me, not that you could keep up with the black devil anyway. Now," she gestured with her stolen gun, "dismount and walk backwards fifteen paces. When you have done so, turn around and kneel on the ground."

"I'm not giving you these horses," he said firmly. "Listen, my name is Randolf Vallee. I'm a friend of Susanna Allard, and her father. She was very upset to find out her house had been broken into last night. Susanna isn't connected to anything...she's a schoolteacher...she's probably going to be remarried shortly, unfortunately."

"Not to you?" she asked, giving him a mocking smile. "Poor, handsome man. Now get off your horse."

"I'm sorry, Madame. I've been threatened with bodily harm if something happens to this horse. Erik will be furious if I allow you to steal him twice."

"Erik?" she repeated, her eyes growing eager. "You know Erik?"

"Yes," he said warily. "How do you know Erik?"

"Not your concern," she said sharply. She turned her eyes to the horse, Erik's horse. "He was in the house last night? I was _that_ close to him? I thought he was someone else," she paused a moment, her mind racing. "Erik Dessain? We are talking about the same...?" She touched her face momentarily, and he nodded at her.

"He may decide to change his name now, but yes, the same sullen, churlish man. We grew up together, actually, although we weren't friends, and he would probably never call me one today."

"Then if you are not a friend, you are an enemy. Erik won't be cross if _I_ take his horse," she said with icy hostility. "Where is he now?"

"Orleans. They've gone for a few days to buy material for the house he's building, and to report the...accident...that occurred at Susanna's," Rand said, daring to step closer to her. She was dressed in dirty clothing, her dark hair filled with leaves and matted in several spots. She glared at him from defiant and proud black eyes, looking more like a savage, heathen woman than anything else.

"Who has gone with him?" she demanded, waving the gun slightly when he tried to move closer.

"His father, brother, and sister. And of course, Susanna."

"Erik didn't have siblings," she said quietly. "And never a father."

"He has them now. Adam Dessain was not his real father," came the steady reply. "Colin Talbot is his father. Where are you from?"

"Paris."

"You were kidnapped?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she replied tersely.

Rand dismounted, but didn't walk backwards fifteen paces and kneel as she asked. He stepped closer, seeing she was a small thing, probably the same size as Susanna. She looked at him nervously, stepping backwards with her gun held higher.

"Did he hurt you, Madame?"

"No. She wouldn't let him."

"She?" he repeated, confusion entering his eyes.

"Guinevere Allard. She wanted to use me as bait, to get to Erik. Have you seen her? I swear if you're helping her, I'll kill you without a second thought," she said, looking at him with anger flashing in her eyes. "If he's hurt, I'll shoot you right in your heart."

"Madame Allard?" Rand said, shock entering his eyes. "What the hell is going on around here?"

"It's called a conspiracy, Monsieur Vallee. And it appears we are both going to get caught right in the middle of it...still...how do I know you aren't helping her in exchange for...her favors?"

The disgust on his face made her laugh, and she wished Guinevere could have at least seen that. Stupid, vain woman that she was, she probably thought she could convince him otherwise.

"That's a vile thing to say, Madame. I've heard rumors about her, of course, but I wouldn't care to see Susanna hurt by such gossip. Or her children. She must know...it would explain things between her and Julien," he mused, a distant look entering his eyes.

"When is Erik coming back?" she demanded.

"I don't know," he replied, eyeing her again. "Madame, allow me to escort you to the inn. You can speak with the authorities when they come to inspect the body...if they decide it's worth it, of course."

"No! She would drug me again, and have me locked back in that cellar. I can't...I can't risk it. No, I shall be fine, as long as you give me Erik's horse. He would want me to have it, I assure you."

"No. He gave me specific instructions for Cesar, and he trusts people so little anyway. You may come with me then, and I will allow you to stay in a spare room at my farm," he said, offering her his hand.

She laughed, "Yes, that's what I'll do. Then you may expect payment for your hospitality, and everything will work out for everyone, correct? You men are truly disgusting creatures, aren't you?"

"I shall do no such thing," he replied, his eyes growing cold. "I have two children living with me, Madame. If you would like, I can take you to the Talbot's, and you can stay with Erik's stepmother until they return...or with Henri Allard. There are many other neighbors I can implore upon, although they might find it hard to accept a filthy creature such as yourself."

"I wondered how long it would take you to insult me," she said softly, a look of sadness in her eyes. "Very well, Monsieur, I will go with you, since it is apparent you wouldn't want anything to do with a filthy Gypsy. But I warn you, I will continue to arm myself, so take heed."

Rand's mouth fell open, and he looked at her again, seeing a woman dressed in European clothing, not Gypsy clothing. And not draped in bracelets and earrings, and not in any way flamboyant or extravagant. But she was indeed dirty.

Literally.

"I didn't know...," he protested. "I meant...your dishabille, Madame. Nothing more. Nothing more, I swear it."

"Sure," she agreed wearily. "Of course, Monsieur. Just get on your damned horse, before I decide I'd rather see you dead than speak with you again."

Feeling shocked into silence, Rand complied, watching as she swung onto Cesar fluidly, tangling her hands in his mane, and settling on his bare back astride. She snatched the reins from him, laying them negligently against his neck and using her legs to guide him.

It never occurred to him that Erik had said that no one was to ride his horse.

"What is your name?" he asked softly.

She stared at him a long time, her eyes boring into his with dark intensity. "Once upon a time, they called me Mirela. Now I prefer Marie."


	79. Prefect

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna took Colin's arm nervously as they entered the stone gray precint, looking around worriedly as he held the door open for her.

"Relax," he said softly. "I've been here before, when I was searching for Erik. You're going to be fine."

"Do you know who we'll be speaking with?" she whispered. "Will you find them, please? I'd feel more comfortable if it was someone you've met before."

"I'll ask, but it's been a long time. Prefect Levack may not be in elect any longer. He was a nice enough man, but he never did much to help me find my son," Colin said, a scowl crossing his face. "He may be perfect for our situation now though."

When Colin went inside, he simply asked if he might have a word with the Prefect, not asking specifically for Levack. A young desk clerk led them to the back of a long hallway, and knocked briefly on a heavy door.

"Enter," came a gruff reply, and he opened it to reveal a fair haired man with his shirtsleeves rolled up, glaring at a document in front of him.

"Prefect Parlange, you have visitors."

"Can't you see I'm busy?" he muttered, then looked up briefly. "What is it, then? Don't waste my time, get on with it."

"Prefect, my name is Colin Talbot, and this is Susanna Allard, a daughter of a friend of mine in Artenay. I...we stumbled upon a body in Madame Allard's home last evening, and we are unsure about the identity of the man, or what might have caused his death. It appears he might have fell down the stairs of her cellar to retrieve a bottle of wine," Colin said, looking the man in the eye as his son had suggested. "The house has been vacant for over a year now, after her husband died, and he must have taken up residence in the last few days."

Prefect Parlange stared at them both, then gestured absently for them to be seated. "A body, you say? And you can't identify him?"

"Artenay is a small village," Susanna said nervously. "We're certain we don't know him."

"You saw the body, Madame? My condolences," the Prefect said solemnly.

"Oh, no, I didn't see it myself...just Monsieur Talbot and his son, and a neighbor in Artenay," Susanna said, feeling panic set in, hoping she hadn't messed up already. "But I'm certain he would have been identified...I mean, he's been at the undertakers by now, and I'm sure people have been curious...you know how they are."

"Yes, indeed," he said quietly. "And this...body...what sort of condition was it in?"

Susanna averted her eyes, trying not to show the revulsion in her stomach as Colin described the head trauma the man must have suffered, as well as the numerous bottles of wine that had been opened upstairs. He didn't mention Erik, or the woman who had been kept inside the cellar, just sticking to basic things as Erik had instructed him.

"And you moved the body?"

"Well, yes. We were already planning on a trip here today, and my...well, I thought it might begin to...to smell...you know?" Colin said, swallowing distaste as he remembered the blood and smells that had already began to set in, not all of them from the body. "I didn't want Susanna's house to become an attraction for people, trying to come and see the body, and inviting more vandals to her home. I didn't commit a crime, did I?"

"No, of course not. I would have preferred to have taken a look myself first, but I can still travel there and view the scene, and take a look at the man. I'm certain this will all work out fine, Madame Allard. You weren't there when it happened, were you? Didn't have any contact with the man before his...death?"

Susanna's eyes widened, and she shook her head slowly. "Oh, no. I haven't lived there in a long time, and I hardly ever go there...I have people check on it for me occasionally, which is what Monsieur Talbot was doing. But no, I was at home with my father and children when I received word."

"So you weren't present when the discovery was made?" he questioned.

"No. I wasn't."

He turned his attention back to Colin, seeming to dismiss Susanna entirely. She breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived.

"The man wasn't wearing a mask, was he?"

"I-I beg your pardon?" Colin stammered.

"A mask," the Prefect repeated. "I had some complaints last month from Artenay, and from another village of a man wearing a mask, but I've been too busy to investigate. Was this man wearing one?"

"No," Colin whispered, feeling his lungs constrict, and anger replace shock. Even now his son would struggle to find acceptance in the world. The child he'd loved with his entire heart, growing into an adult struggling to become a man. Would he ever find peace? "No, he wasn't wearing a mask."

"Well, it could have been him anyway, I suppose. He could have been without the mask at the time he died," the Prefect mused. "I need to send someone into Artenay, I suppose. I've been putting it off long enough."

"For the body?" Colin asked quietly.

"Yes, and to determine if there is still a masked individual around Artenay. I guess there's any number of reasons for someone to wear a mask, but the one that concerns me is the possibility of a criminal. The man who owns the sawmill said he came in and purchased a great sum of building materials...so I don't suppose he's caused any more trouble. I haven't heard."

Susanna and Colin looked at each other a moment, unsure whether or not to mention Erik now. It would be more damaging if they didn't, and he was connected later to the crime, but it could be devastating if he was questioned and showed belligerence to the person who would work the case.

"Erik Dessain," Susanna said quietly. "He was a neighbor of mine as a child, and he was injured in a fire. He returned to Artenay about a month ago, and caused a stir. I assure you he's harmless."

"You'll find the records of the fire here," Colin added. "He disappeared shortly afterwards, and Prefect Levack was in charge of the case. It was a terrible tragedy, and many in the community have seemed to accept Erik now, even if he wears the mask. You must understand...I'm very protective of him. Erik is my son."

The eyes of the Prefect sharpened instantly. "The same son who was with you when the body was discovered?"

Colin flinched visibly, but replied calmly, "I have two sons. Jackson was with me yesterday."

"And where was Erik?"

"With me," Susanna replied. "We went to church together...all of us, and he escorted me and my children home."

"Is Erik here in Orleans?"

Susanna and Colin looked at one another again, fear transmitting in their eyes. The last thing Erik wanted was to speak with the Prefect of Orleans. The last thing he needed was to be questioned.

"Why?" Colin asked, feeling his heart ache. "He's done nothing wrong. There's nothing wrong with him."

"I assure you, he's done nothing," Susanna said, nodding her head. "He doesn't deserve to be judged for anything. Please...he's already been through enough. Don't bother him."

"It isn't my intention to _bother_ him, Madame Allard," the Prefect said patiently. "It's my job to ask him a few questions. If someone comes in here to complain about him again, I'll need to have a first hand idea of what I'm dealing with. If he's done nothing wrong, then he won't be in trouble."

Colin sighed unhappily, looking at Susanna with dismay. Erik was going to be displeased with them both now, and there was no way he could protect his son if they decided to persecute him anyway. Fear settled in his heart, and he closed his eyes to fight a wave of nauseau.

"Colin?" Susanna asked, concern in her tone. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he managed, but it was not without stress. "I'll be fine."

"If it will make you more comfortable, Monsieur Talbot, I can meet him in Artenay. You never answered whether or not he was here."

"Artenay," Colin said, trying to avoid the inevitable. "He'll speak with you in Artenay...in my presence."

"And mine," Susanna said firmly.

The Prefect raised his brows slightly, but said nothing. He stared at them a long moment before he nodded his head.

"Very well, I won't disturb you...but I would like to know the name of your hotel," he said, giving them both a meaningful look. "And don't attempt to hide him, or send him on his way. I just want to speak with him...I'll also want to speak with your other son, and this neighbor in Artenay. When are you leaving?"

"The Metairie. We'll be leaving in a few days," Colin said softly. "Erik is rebuilding the house...the one that his mother died in...the one where he sustained his injuries. Do you have children, Prefect Parlange?"

"I have three."

"As do I, Prefect. I failed to protect my son...I wasn't around when he was injured, and he didn't even know I was his father until a few weeks ago."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," Colin replied, his tone becoming slightly desperate, "if you have children, then you understand the need to protect them. I would give my life for him to have lived a normal life, as a normal man. I would sell my soul if I could give him one moment's peace. He hasn't deserved the life he's led...and he will always be...be stared at, and talked about...and I've only been around him for a month to realize that. How would you feel if it were one of your children?"

Susanna felt tears in her eyes, listening to Colin talk so about Erik, and didn't hide them as the Prefect looked at her uncomfortably. Her heart constricted, and she sighed heavily to suppress a sob, failing as she saw Colin's eyes flood with tears. He looked away from them all, struggling to compose himself. He was like Erik, she realized. Unwilling to show emotion, especially grief and pain in front of anyone else. She had never considered how hard it would be for someone without all of Erik's misery to express themselves emotionally...and Erik had a great deal he was hiding still.

"I do understand," the Prefect said quietly. "But I still have to do my job. I promise, as long as this young man has done nothing wrong, in France, of course, then there is no reason to detain him."

Colin nodded, still not looking up at him. "Thank you, Prefect. I...I won't keep you any longer. If you'll excuse us, we have plans for dinner this evening."

Somehow he made it out of the man's office with his dignity still intact, but he felt a resounding throb in his head, something that happened when he became greatly agitated. He felt Susanna's eyes on him, questioning the sudden brisk walk he took to the Metairie. There was never a moment more that he wanted to put his arms around his son...not an easy feat at Erik's age to do anyway, and to say nothing of the reluctance he had in being touched. Although he had noticed he no longer shied away when Susanna touched him, and Lily seemed to have permission as well.

He glanced at Susanna, wondering briefly if she was the ultimate key to him. If she opened those doors to him, then would he allow more of his family inside as well? He hoped so, because if he didn't connect somehow with Erik, he would never forgive himself.


	80. Divination

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Guinevere seethed when Jean told her that Erik and Susanna had left Artenay. Exploding on him in a whirl of temper and long fingernails, she longed to scratch at his eyes, to screech at him until his ears bled. Instead she remained silent, knowing his son's home was far too close for any displays of violence, and she didn't want anyone to know she'd ever been to Artenay.

"When will they be back?" she demanded.

"I don't know, Guin," Jean replied wearily. "I'm not psychic. They went to report a body being found in Susanna's cellar. You don't know anything about that, do you?"

"Of course not," she snorted, giving him a scathing glare. "What are you going to do to help me, Jean?"

"How about I pay for a room at the inn for a night?" he offered sarcastically. "I was fine with our arrangement for Paris, Guin. I don't want you here."

She pouted, although she knew that at her age it looked more pitiful than beautiful. "Come now," she purred. "I can give you a girl for the rest of my stay here...she's hiding around here somewhere. Help me find her. I need her, Jean. She's important to me."

"I'm not interested in your slaves," he said quietly. "You should have stayed in Paris...if people find out about your endeavors, not only in the sale of your own body, but those of other women, you're going to be run out of here on a rail."

"How would they find out?" she asked sharply. "You aren't going to tell them, are you Jean? Otherwise...I might find it easy to relate your...preferences. Odd, wouldn't you say?"

Jean Labire felt fire creep up the back of his neck, and his hands clench in fury, fighting the urge to beat her senseless. The trouble was...she liked it. So did he...and if she dared to breathe a word of it, he really would kill her.

"What do you want me to do?" he whispered.

"You said Susanna, Erik, and Rene's son were involved in some sort of love triangle. Find out from Rand Vallee what you need."

* * *

Mirela...or Marie, stood at the threshold of his house, uncertain now that she was here if she should still enter. He didn't glance at her as he opened the door, and she followed him inside slowly, leaving the door wide open for an easy escape. Her hand was still wrapped around the pistol she had stolen from an empty house on the far side of the village, and she stepped forward warily when he disappeared. 

"Rachel? Eli?" he called, and she moved forward to see him looking up the stairs. She admired the way his strong neck and jaw looked, with his head pitched back in profile. He really was handsome...for someone so insulting.

"Uncle Rand?" a girl asked from upstairs, sounding uncertain and afraid.

"It's me," he said softly. "You can come down...I've brought someone home with me."

Silence filled the house, and he glanced back at her for a moment, worry clouding his eyes. Mirela stared up at the ceiling expectantly, but no one appeared, and she concealed the pistol in her dress quickly.

"I brought a woman home," he finally said flatly, and at once the tread of footsteps was heard overhead.

"A woman, Uncle Rand?" the girl asked, appearing shyly at the landing.

Mirela peered at her, seeing a dark haired child, looking as if she would be afraid of her own shadow. The girl stared back, the shy smile on her face fading as she looked at her.

"This is...Marie...correct?" Rand asked her, giving her a hesitant smile. "She's going to stay with us a few days. Could you show her upstairs, Rachel? Find her something clean to wear...and..."

"A bath," Mirela said bluntly. "I would certainly appreciate it, Mademoiselle Vallee."

"I'll carry you some water," Rand said softly. "I apologize...this is a farm house. We don't have the technology you must be accustomed to in Paris."

Mirela hid a smile, not telling him there had been a time she'd bathed beneath the sun, with the trees for a witness. Her days as an innocent young girl had ended a long time ago, for certain.

"If you please, Monsieur," she said demurely. A practiced art, speaking as a proper European lady. It had taken years of getting used to, but she had tried to mold herself into the most bland of them, determined not to stand out among them like a rose among carnations.

Rand inclined his head to her, and left her and the girl staring at one another. She finally descended the stairs the rest of the way, still eyeing her with wariness. "Marie...that's a pretty name," Rachel offered quietly.

"Thank you. Rachel is also lovely."

"My brother named me," she said, smiling briefly. "Eli...he's my brother...I think he's in his room. You might meet him later."

"You live here alone with your uncle?" Mirela asked quietly. "No...aunt...?"

Rachel shook her head slowly, "No. Uncle Rand wanted to...to marry Susanna...but she might marry Monsieur Dessain now."

"Erik?" Mirela asked, staring at her in shock. "She's going to marry Erik?"

"Well...I don't know," Rachel said helplessly. "That's the rumor, but there are a lot of rumors about...about him."

"What sort of rumors?"

"Oh...I don't...I don't like to talk about things like that. He just is an unusual man, that's all. He seemed very...upset yesterday with his sister during church. She made him play piano for everyone, and he looked very angry with Mademoiselle Talbot at first...but then he grew quiet afterwards. He's...he's very good at the piano."

"I've never heard him play," she said softly. "I didn't even know he was interested in church. How long has he been here? When did he come back?"

"A month ago, I suppose...why? Do you know Erik?"

"Long ago," she sighed, her eyes clouding with distant memories of a beaten boy with a streak of stubbornness and proud defiance that no amount of cruelty had ever destroyed. Until they had killed her, of course.

"Before...before the fire?" Rachel whispered. "He didn't always wear a mask...that's what Uncle Rand says. He let Eli go to work for him, and made him promise to treat him kindly, and not let any of the other young men bother him. He said Erik can be dangerous when he's angry."

"Rachel."

They both turned to see Rand wiping his hands on a towel. Mirela stood straighter, self consciously trying to hide the state of her hair and clothing, looking longingly over his shoulder to where her bath possibly was located.

"Take Madame...or Marie...Mirela...whatever her name is, and show her where the washroom is. Give her one of your dresses, hopefully one that fits. And no more gossiping."

"Yes, Uncle Rand," the girl replied timidly, brushing past him to go down the hall.

"Why is Erik dangerous?" Mirela asked quietly, unable to imagine the boy she had known as capable of doing anything wrong.

"I don't know why. I don't know all the details of his past...but I do know he has a temper. The bruises around his father's throat proved that to me, although he hasn't done anything like that since. I know he looks often like a caged animal," he replied, and watched anger flare in her dark eyes.

"Yes...a caged animal," she repeated. "That's what he was, Monsieur Vallee. For three years, he was a caged animal. I have no idea what happened to him after that. But yes, I suppose living in a cage makes one feel..._cagey_. By the time he escaped from my people, there was probably nothing left of that boy who left here with only half a face. He'd given it all to the paying crowds. I don't know who disgusts me more...the people who paid to see him...people like you, and all the other civilized members of _society_...or my own people, who exploited him for being different. So perhaps he never escaped after all...perhaps he still lives inside that cage. I wonder if he finds it safer than freedom...because he achieved it the first time at a great cost."

Rand stared at her, making sense out of less than half of what she was saying, but her tone said the rest. He hadn't realized how much Erik had truly suffered. Susanna hadn't said...Jackson had muttered something about a circus once, or a fair, during a moment of alcoholic liberation, but nothing specific.

"As I said, I don't know the details of his past," Rand said quietly. "And I haven't judged him, in any case. Every man has a temper...some more easily provoked than others. I imagine finding out the man you thought was your music teacher was actually your father could cause some anger. And the man who had murdered your mother and best friend was nothing but a lie. But, as I said, I don't know everything about Erik. I don't suspect anyone ever will."

"Madame?" Rachel called from the behind him. "Your bath is this way. I'll have you a dress shortly."

"Excuse me," Mirela murmured, brushing past him. She paused before she stepped through the narrow door, feeling odd as he watched her. She knew what he saw...a wild mass of hair, filthy clothing, dirty skin. She had tried to bathe in the small stream she had found, and wound up muddier. And she knew first hand that she wasn't emitting a pleasant odor. "Thank you," she said softly, "I don't know how to repay you for your...civility."

Rand only stared at her until she finally stepped through the door. She looked around the small room, the only source of light a small window at the top. A copper tub sat in the center with steam swirling from the surface of the water. Almost eagerly she shut the doors behind her, paying little heed to the girl as she stripped off her dress, hiding the gun, and sank into the hot water.

"Ah...my God," she sighed, closing her eyes and sinking low to wet her hair. "I shall die happy...truly, if I can remove this grime, I shall die happy, and free."

"Madame?" Rachel said, averting her eyes. "Madame...I will get you a dress. Here, take this soap."

Mirela opened her eyes to see the girl blushing. "Forgive me, that was terribly heathen of me. I have a ladie;s maid, you see. About your age, I would imagine. Still, that was not proper."

She covered her breasts and leaned forward to take the soap from the girl, noticing her hands trembled as she dropped it into her palm. Instinctivelly she knew someone had hurt this girl, but it was hard to imagine the man who she called uncle as doing something to her. But the men who had come to her had been someone else in her presence, no doubt very different from the ones they portrayed to their families.

"I won't hurt you, _chavi_," she said softly. "Let me see your palm, little one."

"Madame?" the girl whispered, her breathing becoming harsh with terror.

Mirela leaned forward and turned the girl's hand over, seeing a past of pain and fear, and a future with a need fulfilled. Her life line was strong, but her heart was in shadows. She closed her eyes a moment, and an odd sensation fluttered through her. A memory...or perhaps a premonition. Discomposed, she released the girl and settled back in the water.

Rachel closed her hand into a fist and nearly ran from the room, and Mirela heard her brush past Rand before she stomped up the stairs. She turned her head in time to see that the door had not closed.

Fully expecting him to come down the hallway and peer inside, she listened intently, hearing footsteps, but detecting that they faded.


	81. Taking Turns

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Non PG: Just letting you know.

Erik ignored the looks he received from the rest of the people in the hotel's dining room. Lily glared at them all, giving several direct scowls until they looked away. Susanna and Jackson engaged him in conversation, trying to do as he was and ignore them.

His father didn't seem to notice anything, because he was still upset that the meeting at the precinct had not gone the way he wanted.

But Erik hadn't been surprised to hear that complaints had been made about him. He was never surprised anymore about the reaction people had to his presence. He expected fear and distrust...often he received more.

"You know," Erik said softly, in response to an aggravating question from his brother, concerning women in harems that did not need to be mentioned in front of ladies, "if you so much as looked at the Sultan's women, your eyes would be gouged out of your head, and they would make you a eunuch. Afterwards they would determine if you were going to die or not."

"If they made me a eunuch, I would willingly die," Jackson mumbled, shooting a look at Lily who had smirked at him. "But really..._do_ they allow them to walk around undressed?"

Erik rolled his eyes, glancing up to find his father for once paying attention, and he smothered a laugh with a cough. They were both very interested in the horde of exotic women he had met...not that it had ever done him any good.

"_Under_-dressed," Erik said, his lips curving slightly into a wolfish smile. "For the most part, anyway."

"Jackson would have had their heels lifted before-"

"Lilian!"

She raised her eyes innocently to her father, giving a helpless shrug. "Well...at least I'm being honest."

"It's inappropriate," he said, frowning at her severely.

"Oh, and talking about nude women and eunuchs isn't?" she returned sarcastically.

"Very well," Colin conceded, "you may change the subject."

Lily shrugged, her eyes lighting on her oldest brother with a wicked gleam. "When are you two getting married?" Lily asked, waggling her brows.

Erik's eyes shot to Susanna's, finding her blushing prettily. She stared at him, as if she too were wondering, but said nothing.

"I suppose when I ask," he said quietly. "And _if_ she says yes."

Lily clapped her hands slightly, looking at Susanna as if she were sudden prey. "You must let Mama and I help you with your dress. She wanted to last time, so badly, but your mother interfered. Nasty woman, your mother, by the way."

"Yes," Susanna agreed softly.

"We saw her in Paris, you know," Lily continued, seeing surprise flit across Susanna's features. "She came to our hotel room...somehow she knew Erik had come home. You didn't tell her, did you?"

Erik's eyes swung to hers suddenly, drilling her with a piercing and suspicious look, as did Colin and Jackson. She nearly shrank back against her chair from the combined intensity of three green gazes.

"No. I haven't spoken to her...I don't correspond with her at all."

"She sends presents to your children," Erik said cautiously.

"Which I return, unopened," Susanna replied, a glint coming into her eyes. "What did she say?"

"Not much," Colin said shortly. "Nothing to concern yourself with, my dear. She's just a bitter old woman...don't waste your time worrying about her."

"I don't intend to," she said coolly, but Erik detected a flicker of something in her eyes. "If you'll all excuse me, I'm going to retire early tonight. My head aches terribly."

She stood abruptly, murmuring apologies and soothing fears that she had been offended. Erik watched as she left, then pushed his chair back.

"Don't bother," Lily said dryly. "When a woman says she has a headache...well...you know what that means."

"What does it mean?" Erik asked calmly.

Colin nearly choked and caught himself sternly. "It means she has a headache, son. Don't worry about your sister. Go to her."

* * *

She didn't answer as Erik knocked softly on the door, and he opened it slowly to reveal her sitting near the window, looking forlorn as she stared outside. "Susanna?"

"Come in," she whispered, her eyes swinging to his for a moment. "I'm sorry if I left rudely..."

"You didn't. I'm sure you know better than anyone that Lily doesn't do anything halfway. I'm sorry if what she said upset you," he murmured, going to sit in the chair across from her. He placed his fingers against his temple as he looked at her, wishing so many things that would never change, somehow could.

"You knew, didn't you? You knew they saw her in Paris?" she asked softly.

"Yes."

Susanna turned her eyes back outside, unsure if she was angry with him or not. He didn't owe her anything...and probably never thought it important...and he didn't know how little contact she really had with her mother. How little she wanted...how much she wished she could. The chance to have a relationship with her...but not the morbid woman that she had grown into.

"She's your mother," Erik said gently.

Susanna nodded, looking at him with luminous eyes. "I always feel guilty. I can't stop...no matter how much I hate her...I can't stop feeling guilt, and pain. She's the worst person I've ever met, done things I think she should be imprisoned for. Especially to you. Yet I can't stop wishing she would change...that she would stop being a cruel, vindictive woman. Even if she did, I don't think I would forgive her. I never did anything to please her, no matter how much I tried."

"I understand," he replied, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and shot her a look beneath his brow. "I wondered for years what I could have done differently to make Adam Dessain love me. It took me a very long time to realize that nothing I said or did would have mattered."

Her chest tightened as she imagined him as a child, wondering what he had done wrong to earn such hate and abuse from his father. There was probably nothing she could have done to change her mother...but it didn't stop her from wanting it. Wanting a real mother, who would love and protect her. To share memories with, to share the joy of her grandchildren.

"Your father loves you," Susanna whispered, "and your mother loved you."

"Yes," he answered, his voice tightening suddenly. And it had been too long since he had the chance to say them to his mother...and he was too afraid to say them to his father.

"If it weren't for my father, I would have never known anything of love," she said softly. "And the only thing my mother ever did for me was give me Julien, even if it was for all the wrong reasons. I can't even feel gratitude to her for that, because she nearly managed to destroy my marriage before it had really begun."

"What do you think she will do if she finds out about us?"

Susanna stared at him a long time, feeling a tightness in her chest again. She longed to be free...to be free to love him, no matter what the cost. But the feeling that her mother would not approve...and would cause problems suddenly hit her. Her mother would not be pleased at all.

"I don't know," Susanna replied sadly. "I don't want her to hurt you. I don't want her to find out at all...I never want to see her again."

Erik slid to the floor on his knees, placing his hands across hers. "Never is a long time, Suzie. Someday she may come to regret her decisions...perhaps not, but for your own sake I hope she does."

"What she did to you..."

"Shhh."

He placed a finger across her lips, silencing her fear and doubt in a single touch. There was nothing that could change what had happened. Nothing that could dispel his fears of rejection and pain...nothing but Susanna, and her soothing touch.

"It's over," Erik said, brushing a kiss across her mouth. "The past is gone, and right now there is no room for it in my life."

He watched her eyes darken, lowering to his mouth, then back up to his eyes. "Nor in mine," she managed, her breath rushing out as his lips covered hers again.

The tip of his tongue teased her lips before sweeping through the opening and meeting hers. His hand wound itself through her hair, and he removed the pins slowly, undoing what the maid had taken nearly an hour to complete at the Talbot's this morning. Her fingers fumbled slightly with his cravat and shirt collar, and she watched him swallow hard as her skin touched his, skimming through the opening of his shirt and brushing through the hair on his chest.

Erik groaned softly as she leaned down and kissed his shoulder, pushing the shirt away to allow her lips access to his all too willing flesh. He'd dreamed of this night...the culmination of a thousand lonely nights...and it was finally coming true. He was glad he had waited for this woman...glad he had never discarded the last of his innocence for the sake of pleasure with a night maiden. It didn't matter to him that she had been married, and had children. If anything it pleased him more, because she was the most warm and giving person he had met in a long time.

"We should move to your room," she whispered, her teeth biting gently at the slope of his shoulder.

"Why?"

Smiling against his skin, Susanna didn't dare tell him for the sake of acoustics, but the thought of his father hearing a single noise from her room was enough to stop the whole thing. "Don't argue. You're supposed too agree to anything right now."

"Very well," Erik murmured, and lifted her in his arms, carrying her through the doors to his bedroom. He set her down and turned to close the doors. When he looked back at her, she was scrambling onto the bed, a grin on her face as she sat back against the headboard. He removed his coat and waistcoat, searching through the pocket for a moment and pulling out the small box he had taken from her home.

Her eyes drifted down to it for a moment, then he strode forward and placed it at the foot of the bed between them, looking at her in silent question.

"I don't want to wait," she whispered, feeling herself burn with a combination of embarrassment and desire. She held out her hand to him, watching the dark intensity on his face in anticipation until he reached her, pulling her towards him.

Erik threaded his hands through her hair, pulling her head back to kiss her throat. He breathed in the sweet smell of her skin, his tongue tracing a lazy path back up to her ear. Her face turned against his as he kissed her ear, her hands finding his shirt and pulling it free of his trousers. Nothing more was said as they devoured each other, only the sound of harsh breathing and soft groans filled the dim room. A single lamp burned near the door, illuminating them both in golden light.

Susanna pushed the shirt from his shoulders, her hands and mouth exploring his skin, finding out a million things about him in each new scar that she found, in each tender caress that made him pause as her curious nature got the best of her. He forgot his hesitation as her lips swept back up his neck, finally landing on his mouth and teasing him in a slow and seductive dance. She wanted to feel him lying on her, feel the strength of his arms around her and the heat of his body against her own hot skin. His hands roamed across her body, daring to brush over her breast occasionally as he teased her in cautious inquisition.

She lifted her hair slightly as his hands touched the buttons of her dress, her eyes meeting his as he began slipping the glass buttons through the holes. She lay her head against his neck, allowing him to see what he was doing as he continued.

Once complete, Erik watched as Susanna tugged the gown down around her waist, and he drank in the sight of her bare arms and exposed skin. The white chemise showing prominently the outline of her breasts and the hardened peak of her nipples. He sucked in a breath as she leaned forward to kiss him and he felt them smash against his chest. Unable to control himself, and no longer wanting to, he reached between them and caressed her, loving the hard groan that came from her mouth. She was fire...she came alive as he touched her, her mouth searching against his fervently as he cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over the hard knotted bud.

He released her to tangle his hands in her hair, pulling her neck back again and kissing down her throat, the pulse only a brief pause in his true destination. As his mouth covered her, soaking the fabric and hot against her skin she made a sweet sound of surrender, melting against him as his tongue traced a circle around her, then he kissed a soft trail to the next breast, holding her arching body against him as he repeated his gentle and passionate actions.

Frantically she began unlacing her shoes, finally sitting on the bed to rid herself of them, then pushing the dress down her hips. Erik watched her, his blood heating as his eyes roved over her, watching as she moved backwards on the bed in her chemise.

"You're the most beautiful woman..."

She smiled as he placed a knee on the bed, leaning over her to press a kiss against her breasts again. His hand found the hem of the gown, and he slowly skimmed up her stomach to her breast as his other hand untied the laces that held it closed across the front.

"You only say that because I'm letting you see me naked," she whispered, and he glanced up to find a teasing smile on her face.

"Oh, but I've seen naked women," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the swell above her breast. "And I still find you the most beautiful."

His slight nervousness lost, he lifted the hem of her chemise until she finally sat up to remove it. She untied the laces to her bloomers and pushed out of them as well, and she lay back with wide blue eyes and a lovely blush spreading across her body.

Erik stretched out beside her, and she rolled to her side to explore his body, warm and male. Her hand hesitated above the buttons of his trousers, and he stilled as she began to unfasten them. Catching his startled glance, she gave him a coy smile.

"It's your turn," she said, her voice husky and seductive as her breath fanned against his chest. "Or perhaps it is mine."


	82. Continuation of Love

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik kicked his boots off, then lifted his hips as she tugged at his trousers. Barely able to breath, and suddenly disbelieving, he watched as her head lowered to his stomach, kissing him just above his navel. Her mouth was dangerously close to another part of him that ached for her to touch him, but instead of giving him what he wanted, she ran her leg against his, her sole sliding across his shin and knee. He rolled to his side again, his hands sliding around her back and pulling her closer to him. At once he felt her thigh brush against him, and he groaned, a harsh feral sound that caused her to chuckle.

Susanna pressed herself dangerously close to his arousal, feeling its smoothness straining against her opening. She found his hand, catching his eye as she lowered it between their bodies.

"You wanted to know," she whispered, feeling fire dance on her skin as he brushed through the curls between her legs. "This is how you know..."

His hand cupped her slowly, and he felt the heat of her intimate, secret place. His finger slid inside and she vaulted against him, her mouth opening in pleasurable bliss. He discovered the mystery of a woman's desire for a man the first time, exploring her soft and moist flesh. She slid her arm beneath his neck, and her other across his shoulder, clinging to him as he touched her, as he discovered more places to bring her closer to ecstasy.

The inquiring strokes brought more dampness, more heat, and he leaned back to watch her face in wonder. She seemed unable to hold her eyes open, although when she did look at him it burned his soul to see such passion and desire in her blue gaze. Her mouth parted softly, her body arching against his hand as he continued stoking her, bringing her closer to that peak he had heard of, and never brought a woman to.

"Erik," she gritted his name beneath clenched teeth, squeezing at his arm tightly, rolling away from him to give him better access, to give her greater joy. His head lowered to her breast, not pausing in his motions as he took her in his mouth without the barrier of clothing. A groan rolled from his mouth, the vibrations felt throughout her body and sending the curl of heat inside her stomach higher.

He raised his head to see her eyes fly open, and she arched from the bed with a hollow moan, her head twisting to the side as she released the climax that had been building inside. Instinctively he kissed her, drawing the breath from her body as she arched against him.

The waves resounded through her body long after his hand slid up her body, and he settled carefully between her legs, kissing her again as she reveled in the glow of passion. Erik's heart pounded inside his chest, enchanted by her...at the way she had given herself to him, so freely. No one had ever given him anything so beautiful, and he felt so deeply connected to her heart he could not speak.

"The box," she whispered, her eyes sliding open to look into his. "Get the box, Erik."

Erik obeyed, unsure of it, and she sat up quickly, opening it and removing the covering. Placing it over him, he grunted as her hands slid down him as she sheathed him. He stayed on his knees before her as she touched him again, his eyes closing. Unintentionally he moved against her hand, hissing at the sensation.

"Make love to me," she pleaded, laying back against the bed again. Her nerves went wild as he slid across her body, kissing her again, his mouth hovering over her breasts. "I want to feel you," she whispered.

Reaching between them, she guided him to her and felt his hesitant slide. Erik's eyes opened at once, looking down at her with wonder and blazing green heat. Susanna lifted her legs around him, pulling him deeper and feeling the length and hardness buried within her body.

Erik's muscles tightened as he lowered further to her, his chest rubbing against hers, her hips locked around him and pulling him so insistently he wondered if she meant to pull him within her body completely. She raised off the bed slightly, then sank back down, showing him the rhythm she wanted. He matched her inexpertly, but she was groaning so much, making soft noises and such sighs of pleasure that he no longer cared. He stroked her from the inside, a smooth, frictionless glide that was pitching him towards some distant edge. He felt her nails pressing into his back, at first into the scars before she moved them higher, her hands touching his neck and the lower ends of the hairpiece.

Startled, he stopped, staring down at her with primal need, yet greater fear. He didn't want her touching his head, not while he was doing this with her. Not ever. She seemed to sense his reluctance, her eyes softening slightly as she moved her hands down his back more, then she stubbornly aroused his passion again, leaning up to kiss him, rocking her hips beneath his until he began moving again.

"I love you," she whispered, her mouth brushing across his cheek.

He pressed his face against hers, thrusting inside her until she began to groan again, shifting his weight slightly when she begged him, giving her everything he had, and hoping it was enough.

It was.

Susanna felt the build of desire inside her again, her legs locking tighter around him as she matched him to the dizzying height. Her voice was muffled against his shoulder as another swift wave of ecstasy took over her, then she felt the sudden jerking inside of her, telling her Erik had reached it as well. He surged against her, his body shaking tremendously as his hands stole around her body and crushed her to him. His hoarse groan filling her ear with another sort of music, and he whispered her name, nearly a sob as his lips brushed against her ear.

The sound of their breathing stirred the silence of the room, both of them slick with sweat from their exertions. He attempted to move slightly but Susanna clung to him, sudden tears filling her eyes at the beauty and passion that they had shared. She could hardly believe she was here like this, with Erik. Burying her face against his neck, she inhaled his cologne and masculine smell, loving the way her stomach tightened with pleasure. He was doing the same with her, pressing kisses across her face, even to her hair. He raised himself slightly up to look at her, a completeness and sureness in his eyes that had not been there before.

Speaking for the first time, his voice sounded rough even to his own ears. "I haven't...I didn't hurt you, did I? Am I hurting you now?"

"No," she whispered, feeling him slide away from her. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment and she averted her eyes as he rid himself of the covering. Suddenly she felt very modest, pulling the covers down and sliding her legs beneath them. He turned his head slightly, a solemn and dark look on his face. "What is it?"

"You want to stay?" he asked softly.

She nodded her head, pulling the blankets back for him to join her. He lifted his eyes to the window for a moment before reaching down to pull his trousers on. Striding across the room he closed the drapes completely then brought the lamp to the bedside table. Susanna said nothing as he handed her the top of her chemise then slid into the bed beside her. She lay on her side, pressing her body against his again to enjoy the security and safe warmth of his arms.

Erik lay on the left side of his face, the mask feeling annoyingly hot and sticky against his flesh. As much as he longed to remove it, he wanted to hold her more, reveling in the feel of another person beside him. He drew the covers over them both, smiling slightly as she wedged herself more tightly against him, pressing her face against his chest and wrapping her arms around him.

Feeling his throat tighten as tenderness swept through him, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He had made love to her, to Susanna. It had been the most incredible thing he had ever experienced...joy stole through him, making him feel as if his past had been discarded, and he had been reborn.

"How often...how...?"

She seemed to be laughing in his arms, and he tilted her head back to find her eyes sparkling and mouth curved into a smile.

"As often as your stamina allows," she said, giving him a seductive smile. "We will have to test your endurance."

He pulled her tighter to him, intrigued by the idea. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his neck. "I can follow whatever pace you need. I'm...enthusiastic."

Leaning backwards, he turned the lamp off, plunging the room into total blackness. Already his desire stirred again, but he contented himself with the feel of her in his arms. He heard her breathing in the darkness, felt her breath stir against his chest. He felt a greater love for her than he had ever known...still he had not said the words to her.

He had admitted it to her, yes...but he hadn't the courage to say them. Not before.

"I love you," he said softly, pressing another kiss to her head. He stroked her back slowly, feeling the even breathing against his body, and knew that she had not heard him.

She had fallen asleep.

But Erik did not sleep...not for a long time. He lay in the darkness remembering each caress, each sigh. Each moment of pleasure they had given one another. He wanted to be like this with her every night. To be in her arms, for her to be in his.

And as he had known before they had done this...she was his now. Nothing would come between them. No other man, no ghost, neither his nor Julien Croix's...and certainly not Guinevere Allard.

* * *

It was still dark outside, or at least Susanna thought it was as she raised her head to look around the room. The feel of Erik's arms around her was enough to tell her she really didn't care, and although she could not see him in the dark room, she knew automatically he was awake. His hands were roving over her body, soft and searching beneath the chemise.

"Are you awake, then?" he whispered.

"Yes...did you wake me?"

"I might have," he said softly, pulling her closer to him. In the utter blackness of the room he felt comfortable with her, knowing she could see nothing, even if he weren't wearing the mask. "How do you feel?"

"Wonderful," she murmured, gasping as his hand closed around the back of her knee and pulled her body toward his, "but it appears to be bordering on fantastic."

"No regrets?"

"Not even one," she sighed, "although I should have stayed awake longer...we could have done this again."

"We will," he promised, finding her mouth at last. "It's not even close to dawn."

He located the box on the table, fumbling with the sleeve for a moment before he adjusted it to his liking. She opened beneath him, willing and giving as he entered her, her soft sigh of pleasure doing incredible things to his desire.

"I love you, Susanna," Erik whispered, pressing his face against her. It was easier to say in the dark, easier since he had said it before, although it still sent a knife of panic inside his soul.

She felt her heart contain more joy than she thought possible, finding tears had sprang to her eyes. He was so gentle despite the abuse he had received through the years. So careful with her, as if she would break. And he loved her...as she loved him.

Susanna felt his lips brush over her face, felt his surprise as he tasted her tears. "Why?" he asked softly, stilling his movements as he awaited her answer.

"Because you have made me happy," she answered, her voice tight with emotion. "Because I love you, and this...this is beautiful."

Lowering his head to hers, he felt the mask dig into her forehead slightly, the leather bumping her nose as he kissed her. He felt her searching lips against the edge, felt her place a kiss against the cheek on the mask, and suddenly he felt panic burst upon him. He found her hands where they rested against his back and held them to her side, glaring at her in the darkness.

"Make love to me," she whispered, knowing she had exposed part of his impenetrable shield, and wanting to tell him he didn't have to hide. He seemed to take forever to release her hands, carefully lowering back to her and continuing the sweet rhythm. His mood changed from gentle to aggressive, and she clung to him as he did as she asked, her heart in her throat with emotion as he carried them both across the edge.


	83. Clash of Wills

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Rand entered the kitchen, stopping short when he saw Rachel and Eli seated at the table eating, as a dark haired woman prepared more breakfast. He had not seen her after her bath yesterday. She had retired to her room, and Rachel had said she fell asleep in apparent exhaustion. He had been fortunate enough to retrieve the gun from the washroom and hide it, deciding he would much rather have her spitting nails at him than shooting bullets.

"Uncle Rand, sit down," Eli said, smiling heartily. "Marie has prepared us breakfast...I've never had anything like it."

She turned then, and he was sure his jaw fell open. The wild haired, filthy creature he had seen yesterday was gone, and in her place was a raven haired beauty...unlike any he had ever seen. Beautiful skin, black eyes, black hair, black...she was consumed by it. Dark, intense, and utterly alluring. Perhaps Erik had found his counterpart in this mysterious woman.

"It isn't polite to stare," she said with derision. "Yes...even I am capable of looking civilized."

No, she wasn't. She might have thought she was, with her hair pulled back sharply, and in one of Rachel's faded dresses, but she didn't look civilized at all. He suspected no matter what she wore...a sack cloth...even that filthy dress from yesterday...she would always look exotic. If he had known what she really looked like, he never would have invited her here.

"Sit," she demanded, pointing at him with a knife. "And I may consider allowing you to eat some of my food."

"Allow?" he repeated, giving a dry laugh. "This is my house."

"Then you may cook for yourself. Rachel has the morning off."

He glanced at his wide eyed niece, seeing a blush across her face. She looked away from him, but could not hide a smile, stealing his breath. Rachel almost never smiled. She never allowed anyone in her kitchen either. Mirela set the plate in front of him, and he eyed the odd combination of eggs with suspicion.

"How do I know you haven't poisoned me?" he asked darkly.

"You don't," she said over her shoulder, giving him a wicked look. "But I won't-"

Her words were cut off as someone knocked on the door, and he noticed the change in her demeanor instantly. She went from defiant and spiteful to afraid, looking at him almost helplessly as she backed away from the window.

"Uncle Rand?" Rachel asked, looking between the two of them suddenly.

"Do you want me to get it?" Eli offered, pushing his chair back.

"Wait a moment," he commanded. "This lady here," he said, pointing at her. "No one is to know she is here, do you understand? No one...not Lucien, not even Henri. No one, especially not whoever is at the door. Do you understand, Eli?"

"No...," he replied, looking at them both. "But I will do as you ask, Uncle Rand."

"Rachel?"

She nodded her head hesitantly, looking at Mirela with sudden fear. "What's wrong...why can't anyone know?"

Rand gave her a long and level look, unwilling to lie to her, even if it would mean shielding her from pain. "Someone's looking for her, sweetheart, and they can't find her. So take her upstairs...avoid the windows...and we'll be rid of them soon enough."

Mirela released the breath she had been holding, wanting to argue with him, and wanting to weep in gratitude for his protection. She followed the girl down the hall, darting up the stairs as the pounding on the door increased. She halted behind Rachel when she crouched down, looking at her in question.

"I hide up here," Rachel confessed, giving her a troubled smile. "I don't like to be around when people come inside."

"Why?"

But the question was never answered as they heard a male voice from below.

"That's Jean Labire," Rachel whispered, her eyes wide. "I wonder why he's here...my Uncle doesn't even like him, or his son Jean Luc. His grandson is in my class with me...I don't like him either."

"Why?" she asked again, listening to the men talk about some farming practice.

"He pinches me," she said, looking away.

"On your breasts?" Mirela asked sharply, seeing tears fill the girls eyes.

Rachel gave her a horrified look, pressing a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob of dismay. "How did you know?"

"Because, _chavi_, that's where cruel men like to pinch girls. Next time, hit him so hard his teeth rattle loose," she advised. "Or better yet, tell your brother or Uncle, and let them do it. They can hit harder."

But she could see that the girl would do neither. Someone had cowed her so badly, she was frightened of her own shadow. She reached out and took her hand, ignoring the insecurity in her posture, ignoring the signs that she did not want to be touched by anyone, man or woman.

"Relax, _chavi_," Mirela said quietly. "I would rather die than hurt you. I would never hurt you, because I know what you have felt like."

"No," Rachel whispered emphatically, pulling her hand away. "I'm certain you do not."

Mirela sighed, cursing whoever had done such cruelty to her. She still didn't think it was her uncle, not after the way he had been honest with her this morning. She had heard them last night below her in the living room, talking quietly but seeming to be about nothing in particular. He seemed to avoid upsetting her by being overly cheerful, and thereby ignoring a very big problem.

This girl needed to learn how to scream, how to cry, and he wasn't helping her do either by pretending her pain did not exist. She hadn't been here a full day and she could feel the weight of Rachel's depression pulling her down.

"Rachel?" Rand called from downstairs, interrupting her thoughts. "You may come down, he's gone."

But Rachel turned and fled to her room, leaving Mirela to descend them alone. He eyed her for a moment, looking behind her for his niece then sighing.

"What's wrong with her?" Mirela asked, giving him a piercing look. "Why is she like that?"

"Don't," he said sharply, glaring at her. "It's none of your concern."

"The hell it isn't! Did you do that to her?" she demanded, watching dark anger flare into his eyes.

Rand closed his eyes as fury shot through him, trying to tell himself that she didn't know him, couldn't possibly know him to believe something like that about him. And she was trying to help Rachel...protecting her, even if it was misplaced. But it still made him angry.

"No," he said shortly. "And you won't be bothering her about it, do you understand? It only gives her nightmares, so just leave it be."

"What did he want?" she asked suddenly.

"What do you think he wanted?" he returned evenly. "He was searching for clues...though I don't know why. Asking questions about Erik and Susanna, when he's never even been to my house before, or even spoken to Erik since he returned. As far as I know, he's never even spoken to Susanna, unless it was about his grandson."

"Ah yes," Mirela snorted, "the little bastard that pinches your niece, and you are so kind as to ignore it."

"What the hell are you talking about?" he nearly shouted at her, feeling anger escalating through his body. He'd never been so damned angry with a woman before, so furious, and he didn't know why.

She merely stared at him, unwilling to tell him. Let the girl do it. It might release some of her pain...make her ignorant uncle realize how dead she was inside.

"Figure it out for yourself," she replied calmly, giving him another derisive look. "Perhaps you'll even manage to not have to put too much thought into it."

Shrugging calmly she stepped around him to the kitchen, feeling his eyes burning into her back until she made it through the door. He turned and slammed out the door, bellowing like a mad calf halfway to the barn, causing her to chuckle uncontrollably. He was an infuriating man, but by far the most interesting one she had ever met. Every other European man she had ever met would have leered at her, made some crude comment, then demanded her time.

If it would have been fifteen years ago, and if she had still been under Madame Allard's thumb, perhaps she would have been commanded to please him. They all wanted to experience the exotic, and she had been offered to Madame's richest patrons as a Gypsy maiden, sometimes something else, forced to use her own culture to satisfy swine, or else endure being used by the most disgusting of her patrons, being forced into lewd acts that made her skin crawl.

And if it hadn't been for the fact that she really was a Gypsy, she might have never found the opportunity to crawl from beneath the cruel oppressive woman who had purchased her. If Madame had not in fact sold her, she never would have had anything at all.


	84. Answered Prayer

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna nearly wept in relief as Colin opened the door to the Metairie lobby, jostling her arms full of packages...mostly Lily's. Lily came in behind her, carrying her own share, and Colin somehow managed to hold his as well.

"We should have brought a carriage," he said irritably, eyeing his daughter with narrow green eyes. "Next time, try to control yourself. This isn't even Paris...you wouldn't even consider buying these things if you weren't bored."

"I didn't buy them for me," she said primly. "I bought them for Erik."

"And I'm sure he'll be pleased," Colin grumbled, calling for a hotel clerk to deliver their packages upstairs. "That tailor didn't even have his own errand boy to bring these things back here for us. How irritating."

"What's irritating?"

They all turned to see Jackson and Erik looking at them, and Susanna's face broke out into a blush and smile. Lily had been kind enough to comment on their hearty appetites this morning at breakfast, then basically let everyone know what she thought had been the reason for their absence from the parlor for the evening.

"You," Lily replied. "And your constant state of black...I hate it. So, I bought you some things."

"You mean you chose them, and Father paid for them?" Jackson corrected, earning a scowl from his sister.

"What you will," she said, giving them both a smirk.

"I don't need new clothes," Erik protested, giving his father a desperate look. "I really...really don't want them."

Colin shrugged, "You should have come with us then, because I find it easier to give her what she likes than argue."

"Come," Lily called, sailing past them and up the stairs. "I want to see how you look in them. Are you coming, Susanna?"

She followed, giving Erik a look of secret apology, knowing he was going to complain as much as Colin had today, but that he would likely give in.

"One moment," Colin said when Erik began to trudge upstairs. "I have something for you."

"I don't need-"

"You'll want this. I promise," Colin said softly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box. "Emma has kept this, all this time. I didn't know...but she gave it to me before I left the other day, hoping that when Susanna returned she would be wearing it. After last night...I'm compelled to agree."

Erik's mouth tightened, cursing Lily for announcing what she had at breakfast about Susanna's room being empty all night. "What is this?" he asked suspiciously, opening it to find a gold ring with a square diamond in the center. "An engagement ring? For Emma?"

Colin cleared his throat, glancing at Jackson a moment before he continued. "No...no my wife still has hers. This was...well...at one time, it was intended for...for Francine. I gave it to her once...a few nights before she told me about everything. About you, about her marriage. She gave it back," he said quietly. "I think she would have wanted you to have it...and I think she would have wanted Susanna to wear it."

Erik swallowed hard as he removed the ring, feeling his lungs fail inside. His father would have married her, with or without the knowledge of her pregnancy. He would have done it because he loved her, if it hadn't been for her previous marriage to Adam Dessain. "It's a beautiful ring," he whispered, glancing up at his father a moment. "She wore this?"

"Yes. For a few days, until she knew she had to tell me the truth. I think she just wanted to pretend for awhile that her past didn't exist. I can't be angry with her now, but at the time, I was very, very enraged. I think old age tends to do that to you...make you lose interest in being angry. Or perhaps you simply lose the energy," he said wryly. "In any case, I want you to have that."

"Emma kept this?" Erik questioned.

"She did," Colin replied. "She's a very compassionate woman, my wife. She's never said one unkind word about your mother, possibly never even thought one. I don't understand it...if it were me, well, I have to admit to being a jealous man. But Emma knew that one day you might return, and she kept that for you."

"Why?"

"Because she loves you like a son," Jackson said quietly. "She always has."

* * *

Lily had pulled every article of clothing out from the bags, arranging it all on Erik's bed and across every available piece of furniture she could find. Susanna watched her suspiciously as she changed things, taking different waistcoats and putting them with different shirts.

"How do you know all this will fit him?"

"I stole his clothing out of his room at home," she replied carelessly. "I had the maid take measurements, then gave them to the tailor today. He gave me what he had, and told me if something didn't fit properly, I was to take him with me tomorrow for adjustment."

"I'm not going anywhere," came a calm voice from the doorway.

Susanna saw the sullen look in his eyes as he surveyed the damage to his room. She nearly laughed when he scowled at the display of colors around the room.

"I am not wearing anything in that color," he said stubbornly, pointing at a puce colored waistcoat. "Or that...and _definitely_ not that."

"What about this?" Susanna asked shyly, holding up a dark blue and black waistcoat and matching cravat. "Or these?" she asked, holding a dark green and a dark red. "They aren't all bad, Erik."

"What's wrong with my clothing?" he asked, grouchiness turning into weariness.

"Nothing, if you're going to mourn forever," Lily said, giving him a smirk as she continued to railroad him. "And...I bought you this."

"Lily, no," Susanna said quickly, seizing the box her hand had landed on. "I told you no...don't. Absolutely not."

"Susanna, give me the box," Lily demanded, trying to pry it from her.

"No! I don't want you to give it to him," she said, sounding angry all at once. "Leave it be, you're only causing trouble, and it's not needed or wanted."

Erik looked at them both, engaged in a battle of iron will as they each fought over it. Walking behind Susanna, he plucked it from her quickly, avoiding her as she spun around on him in stunned silence.

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't look inside."

But his curious nature would not be denied, and he pried the circular ivory lid off, peering inside, only to have his anticipation snatched away by the cruel hand of pain. Damn her, he thought savagely, staring at the dark brown hair nestled inside on a white mannequin head. Damn her. He felt exposed to them both, to Susanna especially. Lily had emasculated him, effectively ripping away his pride and confidence.

"It'll look so much more natural," Lily offered with a nervous smile. She feared she had gone to far...she had meant to give it to him in private, or at least without all this fuss, and now he looked ready to strangle her. "I think the black looks nice...but I would like to see what you looked like then."

"So would I," he replied coolly, his voice soft and deathly calm. "But alas, Mademoiselle, it doesn't appear either of us will get what we want."

"Erik-"

"No, Lily," he interrupted her swiftly. "I believe this will be quite enough."

He closed the lid on the box and tossed it onto the bed, striding from the room as if the devil's hounds were chasing him. When he turned though, it was only Susanna, running behind him wordlessly as he tore down the stairs and out the back to the small courtyard.

"I'm sorry," she finally said, her breath coming out in sharp gasps. "I tried to talk her out of it but-"

"She gets what she wants," he finished flatly. "Lily gets whatever she damned well pleases. She could have sung for me at the dinner table...I would rather she have done anything than this. Anything...anything."

Her hand closed over his arm, and he swung around on her with raw anger in his eyes. "It's alright," she whispered, touching his cheek. "We're together now, Erik. Forever. Don't forget about last night. Don't let anything come between us...and don't believe for a moment that you need anything to change your appearance. I didn't fall in love with your clothing...or anything else. I fell in love with you."

Anger left him swiftly as he stared into her beautiful eyes, only to be replaced by self pity and doubt. It was always the same, that following rage, he felt inadequate and like a failure.

"You could do better," he muttered, looking away from her. "You could have any man you desired...I however, could never have anything, no matter how much I tried."

"I don't want any other man," she returned quietly. "I want you...I wanted you then, and I want you now. If your room was empty," she lowered her voice, stepping closer to him to see the dark green eyes that blazed to life, "I would be there with you right now, making love to you again. And again, until we were both blind."

He frowned at her, immediately concerned. "Is that possible?"

"Blindness?" she said, confusion, then laughter in her eyes. "I hope not...but I meant blind with passion."

"You must think I'm a fool," he said bitterly, looking away from her. "I'm not..."

"You're wonderful. Last night was incredible, and I would like to spend tonight in just the same way. And tomorrow night..."

Erik stared at her, feeling desire hitting him squarely, and wanting nothing more than to take her back upstairs, damn whoever was in his room. There was a strong comfort in knowing this woman wanted him, just as much as he wanted her. A protective force that compelled him to shield her from harm, and bury himself within her sweet body. She had proven false every theory he ever had about himself, shown him that love and intimacy was nothing to be afraid of. It was something to embrace.

"You want to come to my room tonight?" he asked, drawing in a ragged breath.

"I'm going to be there every night that we are here," she whispered, stepping closer to him. "And I will have to figure out something for when we get back to Artenay, because I'm not sure if I can bear being apart from you. I loved waking up next to you this morning. You were warm, your lips soft against mine...your whiskers burning my skin, but I loved the feel of it."

Susanna traced his jaw with her hand, feeling it smooth now, but knowing by morning it would be rough again. His hands slipped around her waist, his eyes glancing around the courtyard for a moment before he kissed her, once, chastely on the lips.

"We should go back inside," he murmured.

"Should we?" she asked innocently, spinning around to sit on a bench beneath a large tree. "I don't think it's necessary immediately."

He took the seat she offered beside her and rested her head against his shoulder, simply enjoying the quiet and the feel of his warmth. Lacing her fingers with his, she sighed happily, wishing this moment could be suspended in time.

"Have you thought more about our future?" he asked, his words a mere whisper in the quiet breeze of the courtyard.

"Yes," she replied, feeling her heart begin to pound inside.

Erik was silent for a long time, thinking of all the missed chances he had in his life to tell the people he loved how he felt, to grasp at hope when it was already gone. He had finally found his way back into the light, and still he was afraid to take a chance, even on Susanna.

But the ring burned through his pocket, pressed against his heart with such a sweet clarity that somehow he found that he wanted to ask the question, more than he wanted to hide from the truth. His mother would have loved to have Susanna for a daughter in law...almost as much as he wanted her for a bride.

She watched as he stood up suddenly, his hands taking hers before he knelt before her. Her heart slammed around painfully inside as he reached inside his pocket and pulled a box out, showing her a beautiful diamond ring.

"Marry me, Susanna."

He waited, his breath held, not that it would have done any good to try and make his lungs work anyway. Erik felt as if his heart had been pierced, and the arrow lodged so deeply inside that it would never be pulled out. Susanna's eyes had grown damp, her mouth open in wonder as she stared at the ring, then back up at him. He willed her to answer him...to say anything, silently pleading with her to end his torment, no matter what the outcome.

"Yes," she finally whispered, her voice so wound with emotion the word came out as a gasp. "Yes...I...I would love to be your wife."

With trembling hands, somehow he managed to slip the ring on, finding it a little loose, but pressing a kiss there with a promise that they would have it adjusted. He gathered her in his arms, still unable to breathe, crushing her so tightly to him that he was uncertain if she could or not. "Thank you," he said raspily, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

She laughed slightly, giving him an odd look. "I'm not sure if that's the appropriate response...but you're welcome."

No, he disagreed silently. Thank you was entirely appropriate for her agreeing to marry him, although he hadn't necessarily been thanking her. Thanking God was more like it, and he swore he would do so every day, as long as she was his.


	85. Squaring Off

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

It was dark by the time he let himself back into the farmhouse, finding the kitchen empty of all food, and his niece and nephew nowhere in sight. Grumbling, Rand climbed the stairs, still irritated with the little woman who had been disturbing his mind all day. She had been a thorn in his side since he had picked her up, insulting him at nearly every turn with a malicious tongue and sharp, angry eyes. He had just walked past Rachel's door when he heard her sobbing within, then a muffled cry. His heart sank, recognizing the sounds of her night terrors, and he opened her door.

She was in the corner of her room, out of the bed and huddled against the window, her arms wrapped around her head as she tried to ward off whatever blows she was receiving amidst a dream.

"Rachel..."

He strode to her, lifting her off the floor and onto her bed, immediately being hit with soft, useless blows as she tried to defend herself. She scratched at him, her nails digging into his neck and he sought her hands, holding her tightly as she began to scream.

"Rachel," Rand said, sharper, giving her body a slight shake. "Wake up..._please_...wake up."

He hated these sounds that came from her. They tore him inside, made him want to crawl into bed beside her and hold her until the weeping stopped...yet she never cried...only made these desperate noises, needing the safety of a father who wasn't there, and probably never had been. They made him want to shove hot irons into his ears so he would never have to hear them again.

"No," she whimpered, struggling to free herself.

"It's alright, Rachel. It's Uncle Rand...I won't hurt you, sweetheart. I've never hurt you," he whispered, his voice tightening more when she finally relaxed against him, the dreams stopping. He was never sure if she woke up, and this was the only time she would allow anyone to touch her, or if she slept peacefully, feeling a sense of protection from him. Eli had relinquished the role to him long ago, not wanting to hear his sister crying anymore. He had never pried anything out of either of them. He didn't want to know...he would rather not know the details of what caused this terror. He wasn't sure if he could handle it.

"Rachel?" he asked softly, trying to determine if she was asleep or not. She never responded, but he thought he felt her shift slightly, and felt tears against his skin. "Tell me what to do," he whispered to her. "I would do anything for you. Tell me, Rachel."

She said nothing, but he felt more tears against his neck as she cried silently. Uncertain, and afraid to press her further he simply held her until he thought she was asleep again. Shifting his burden back to the bed, he sat beside her a moment longer, wishing he could resurrect Raymonde Dessain and kill him, if he had been the one to cause her pain.

As he left the room, he closed his eyes and leaned against the door, struggling to control the ache in his heart.

"You're bleeding."

He turned to look at the woman standing down the hall, looking at him in wariness. "What of it?" he asked softly, his hand touching the skin where Rachel had scratched him. It wasn't the first time, and most likely would not be the last.

"Is she always like that?" she continued, glancing at the door.

Rand held his finger over his lips, indicating her to follow him downstairs. He walked into the dark living area and turned up a lamp, heading immediately for the whiskey bottle that sat near his father's old chair. Hearing her finally enter the room behind him, he offered her one, his lips curving into a wry smile when she shook her head.

"Too strong for you?" he asked, sinking into the chair. He removed a linen from his pocket and dipped it into the glass, swiping at the blood around his neck. Finishing the whiskey in one swallow, he held the cloth to his neck, feeling it burn the inside of his throat...and out.

"You didn't answer my question," she said quietly, moving slowly into the room and sitting across from him. "Does she always have such terrible dreams?"

"No," he replied quietly. "Not as frequently...only when something upsets her."

"Am I upsetting her?" Mirela asked, her voice filled with concern. "I will leave, immediately, if I am the cause of it."

"No. She...she's been like this a few days now. Actually...it had been peaceful for awhile this summer." He looked up at her suddenly, "What you said about Labire's grandson...what did you mean by that?"

"I'm not the person you should be asking."

"She won't tell me," he muttered, bringing the blood soaked rag down to look at. "I don't want to hurt her."

"You're doing just that by ignoring her," she returned, an edge to her voice. "She's too young to be so conflicted...don't you see that?"

"I want her to forget it, whatever it is. I thought with time...," he broke off, looking at her strangely. He had never shared this with anyone before. Never wanted anyone to know this about Rachel. Never wanted anyone to know anything about her dreams, about the way she hid when men came into the house. She never answered the door...ever. Even if it was someone she knew, like Jackson, she refused to answer the door, refused to even come downstairs when he was around.

For some reason...perhaps it was because Mirela had sensed immediately that something was wrong with Rachel, he felt as if he could tell her. "She is better than she was when she came here. Both of them...nine years ago my brother dropped them off on my doorstep and left without looking back. They hid beneath their bed together for nearly a month, and I could hear them moving around at night, eating the food I would leave out for them. Eli told me once that Rachel wasn't even named...not until she was a couple of years old. His mother had died...I'm not sure if they share the same one or not...but he named her himself. His mother's name had been Rachel. It was the only female name that he knew."

"How old was she then...?"

"Five. Eli was eight. It's been a struggle with both of them the whole way...but Eli has been admittedly easier than Rachel. It took a few months for him to even speak to me, but he began helping me out around here, and now he works for Erik, although he was angry with me for volunteering him at first."

"Erik?" she asked, her eyes lighting up. "Building Erik's house?"

"Yes," he replied, looking at her for a moment. "How do you know him so well?"

"I used to know him. I haven't seen him in over twenty years," she said carefully. "He thinks...he believes that I'm dead, actually. He believes he watched me die."

Rand gave her a look of disbelief, "How is that possible?"

She smiled secretly, but said nothing. There was a twisted irony in her story...one that was not easy to miss. Erik had been taught by the best of illusionists...and been deceived by them as well.

"How old were you?" he asked suddenly, "Or rather...how old are you now?"

"I'm shocked," she said slyly. "A gentleman asking a lady such a question! I was fifteen when I last saw Erik...and it was roughly twenty one, or twenty two years ago. I'll let you do the math, if you're capable."

"That isn't the first remark you have made about my intelligence," he said, beginning to scowl at her. "Do you have something against farmers, or just men in general?"

"Men, period," she said flatly. "You are all swine, and I find each one of you disgusting in your own unique way."

A dry laugh escaped him, and he looked at her uneasily, quite certain she was not making a jest. She looked perfectly serious, eyeing him suspiciously suddenly.

"Have you changed your mind, then? Decided that payment is required for my stay here?"

"I think you are the most insulting woman I have ever met," he responded stiffly, rising up to glare at her. "I can see why you think such of men, if you treat them all the way you have me. I apologize if my _civility_ has not been up to your high standards...Madame. Hopefully Saint Erik will not disappoint you. Perhaps you _can _do me a favor after all," he said, giving her an engaging smile. "If you can lure him away from Susanna long enough for me to put a ring on her finger, you would be doing me a great service. Or maybe you'll find his surliness and charming black mood as disgusting as you do me. Excuse me...I'm afraid I've lost the taste for your company as well."

"Monsieur, wait," Mirela said quickly, losing her taste for blood as she recognized anger and hurt in his eyes. It was an unusual thing to see in a man's eyes...something she was certain she had never seen before. He seemed to be a good man, but they all could seem good, until their lustful natures got the best of them. "I apologize. I...I don't...I don't trust you, and sometimes my tongue turns waspish. I didn't mean to offend you."

"You do a fine job of showing your gratitude," he bit off, still furious with her insinuations. "I have done nothing to you...I am letting you stay here, and am tolerating you prying into private matters, because you seemed genuinely concerned for my niece. It does not give you license to attack me. I do not demand payment for doing kindness to anyone...especially a woman who has been kept prisoner. Especially someone who has been possibly hurt by Raymonde Dessain, or any of the other Dessains roaming around this village. Tell me, Madame, are there more of them? Have they multiplied again? Am I to expect more of them...because I'm prepared to shoot every last one of them this time."

She stared at him in shock, watching as he moved forward to tower over her in her chair. It had been a long time since a man intimidated her, and she shrank back against her chair suddenly, sure he was going to strike her. Closing her eyes, she waited with a braced jaw, prepared for a fist against her face, or to be backhanded across the mouth. She waited for her hair to be roughly pulled, and forced to please him and tried to stop the rolling in her stomach at the thought.

"Madame...?"

She heard him move, and opened her eyes slowly to find him crouched beside her. His warm brown eyes looking at her in concern.

"I've never hit a woman," Rand said slowly. "Not once, in my life. My brother...actually, if I'm to be perfectly honest with you, he was my cousin, but I will always call him my brother. His name was Jonathan...and he was every woman's worst nightmare. I believe you met his uncle Raymonde the other day...perhaps you already knew one another...?"

"No," she whispered, "Madame Allard, yes, but not the man who kidnapped me."

"Why...?"

"I'm bait. For Erik...though I don't know what her plan is now that I've escaped. She was going to use me to lure him to Susanna's, and have Raymonde kill him...then I believe she was going to kill me, and make it all look as if Raymonde did it. She doesn't want anyone to know she's in Artenay," Mirela said softly.

"Erik thinks you're dead...why would she chose you?"

"Because we were in love once," she replied, closing her eyes at the last good memory she had of them. "Before my husband and his father faked my death...and Erik killed my father in law. Madame Allard came to the fair where they had kept Erik, wanting to purchase him for her amusement. Instead, they offered me...the lover of the Devil's Child. Although we never...we were never lovers...but it intrigued her," she said angrily, her nostrils flaring. "I knew about her before...Erik had told me things about her, about Susanna, about his friend Derrik. But I never realized the European culture had such filth...was so sick with depravity."

Rand was silent, staring at her with quiet horror, hoping what she implied was not true. Susanna's mother had not been seen in Artenay for over two decades...and he had heard rumors she had become a mistress or a prostitute in Paris. But he never would have believed her cruelty, if not given such firm evidence with this woman.

"She _bought_ you?" he asked curtly. "She was going to _purchase_ Erik? Why? How is that possible?"

"Men will pay for all sorts of things, Monsieur Vallee," Mirela replied, her voice devoid of emotion. Her eyes losing some of their light and anger. "For example...men love to see a Gypsy slave dance for them. You're looking at the once most sought after private entertainer in Paris."

His mouth went dry, his eyes closing unwillingly as he thought of her dancing...and anger swiftly replacing fascination. "She made you a prostitute?" he asked hoarsely.

"She made me a slave," she corrected quickly. "A prostitute is free...I am a slave. She even gave me a tattoo. Would you like to see it?"

"What? No...no," he said, stronger this time, with more force.

Rand stood up and moved back to his chair, stunned at her confessions...feeling angry and twisted inside. His entire life, he had been sheltered and protected, never realizing it until the damaged children upstairs had been brought into his life. Until he had watched Jonathan's head drop from the guillotine into a bucket, and blood pour from his headless body. He had been sheltered...and women like this one, and girls like Rachel had been exploited...used. Then discarded.

A beautiful woman like Mirela should not be so bitter...not hate men so much. Despite what had been done to her, she was a woman made for a man's touch. Beautiful...and she would most likely never allow anyone to touch her again. Not that he would have done so. It had been so long since he had held a woman, he wasn't even sure he remembered how.

"You said once...?"

"Madame sold me fifteen years ago," she replied coolly. "It was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Best thing...?" he repeated dumbly. "You were _sold_, for Christ's sake. How can that possibly be better?"

"We all have our price, Monsieur. Some of us are not worth as much as others," she said, shrugging slightly. "I was given to a rich man, who died a few years ago, and made me a wealthy woman. An independent woman. I cannot go back to my people, and I will never blend in with yours. The only thing I have been able to do is protect myself."

"And it worked out well for you?" he questioned sharply. "You were kidnapped...and they would have killed you if-"

"If I had not killed him?" she responded, leaning forward to look at him with icy malice. "If I have the chance...even one...I will kill Madame Allard. And anyone else who dares to touch me...and Erik as well. Be warned again, if I find out you helped her in any way, I will shoot you."

"I have your gun."

"Do you?" she said, smiling mysteriously. "There are better hiding places than your bedroom. Nice dressing gown by the way. I bet you look very handsome in it."

He frowned at her, shifting slightly as her eyes slowly made their way down his body, pausing below his stomach. It was a calculated look, designed to make him uncomfortable, and dammit, it worked. She knew precisely what she was doing, and her growing smile was evidence of her game. For someone who claimed to hate men, she had a unique way of showing it.

"Mirela," he said shortly, causing her eyes to widen at the use of her given name. "I don't appreciate your unsubtle attempt to piss me off. If you want a man so badly, wait for Erik. I hear he's still a virgin, maybe that will please you."

He stood abruptly and left her there, enjoying the way her smug smile slid from her face, and the flash of annoyance in her eyes. Erik would probably not appreciate him telling her that...and Jackson wouldn't either, if he even remembered telling him, but it was far more satisfying to see her put in her place. Anymore looks like the one she had been giving him, and he would be proving to her that all men were bastards, including himself.


	86. Busted

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Lily immediately noticed the ring on her finger when they went back to Erik's room. The box containing the wig was out of sight, and all the clothes were being hung in the small armoire.

"I'm happy for you," she said, smiling cheerfully, although it looked forced. "I was watching...," she said, gesturing out the window that overlooked the courtyard.

"Thank you," Susanna murmured, feeling Erik squeeze her hand tightly. He hadn't let go of her once in the last hour that they had sat outside, and waited until it was well after dark before he agreed to come inside.

"Erik, I'm really sorry," Lily whispered, her hand running across a shirt as she hung it up. "I really didn't mean to...I only wanted to help."

He stared at her, a stony expression on his face. "Your help isn't wanted, or needed," he said, not willing to forgive her so easily. "You may return everything tomorrow, at your convenience."

Lily's eyes widened, and she stepped backwards towards the armoire. "You don't mean it. I looked for hours for all these things for you. You can return what you don't like...but surely there is something here you will want."

Erik said nothing, unwilling to compromise, even this once. She had pushed him too far this time.

"Lily...could you give us a minute?" Susanna asked softly.

"Oh...sure," she said slowly, dropping a shirt to the floor. She didn't look at either of them as she left, and Susanna sighed as she looked at the swath of clothes hanging inside.

"They really aren't all bad," she said, going to pick the shirt up. "I think they would look very nice on you."

He shut the door behind him, then rubbed his left eye wearily. "I can't keep allowing her to bully me. Everyone does whatever Lily wants, to keep from upsetting her. I don't appreciate her interference...and I don't think it's wise to continue spoiling her."

"Try this one," Susanna said calmly, holding the shirt out to him. She smiled slightly when he frowned at her. "For me? If you don't like them, we can still take them back. But I would like to see you in it...and Lily didn't choose them all. I chose some of them."

Erik strode forward, taking the shirt from her, giving her a blank look. "You chose clothing for me?"

"I chose some of them...and I bought you something myself, but I don't want to give it to you yet."

"Why?" he asked, watching as she began to untie his cravat, and undress him. He felt her hesitate a moment as she continued, laying the shirt over her shoulder as she pushed his coat from his body, then his waistcoat and shirt.

"Because...a lady has a right to secrets," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest. "And I want to keep mine a little longer. Now, put this on."

"I think I'd rather leave it off," he murmured, pulling her against him. He captured her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and looked at her ring. "You don't mind do you...about the ring belonging to my mother?"

"No. Oh, no, I think it's perfect. I think it's romantic, and I'm happy to be part of your parent's history. Even if they never married...what they had was special. I wish she were here...well...maybe not _here_, but still with us today," she said, her face pressing against his chest, loving the feel of his arms wrapping around her.

Erik felt his body respond to her as she rubbed her cheek against his chest, her fingers toying with the hair, running through it lightly and causing him to tighten all over. He kissed her, his lips searching for hers, his tongue brushing past her teeth to the wet cavern of her mouth. She tasted sweet, and warm, and increasingly familiar. He felt her arms slip around his back and trace absently across the scars, and he suddenly broke away from her.

"Do they bother you?"

"This?" she whispered, running her hand across one that felt particularly vicious. "Of course...I hate the pain that they must have caused you. It makes me ill to think about you in such pain. But are you asking if they repulse me...then no. Not that way."

His mouth tightened as he unwillingly recalled the session with the Russian palace guards, but Susanna kissed him softly, stealing and distracting memories too painful to forget.

"What time is it?" she asked, feeling his hips press against her stomach.

"Unfortunately, it's already after dinner. I'm afraid I made you miss yours, so you may have to plead with the hotel chef to give you a spare bone or something."

"I'll see what I can do...what would you like?" she prodded, finally stepping away from him even as the flames of desire threatened to burn them both.

His eyes answered for him, but she shook her head, smiling wryly.

"Not yet...put your shirt on, and I'll see what I might find for us to eat. I don't think I could last through the night, and breakfast is too far away," she said, giving him a teasing look. "And I intend to have a word with Lily tomorrow, so you should choose anything you think you might like...and I'll be back to help you."

"You're going to help me?"

"Why...every wife chooses her husband's clothing. Didn't you know?" she asked innocently, enjoying the possessive look he gave her. "Now, change," she ordered, tapping his chest playfully before she darted out of his reach and left the room, laughter fading from his ears as she closed the door.

* * *

When she returned with a small plate of food, Erik was wearing the shirt and a deep red and black waistcoat, shrugging into his overcoat with graceful movements. He glanced up at her as she set the tray down, holding his arms out with a wry smile.

"Does this meet your approval?"

"Yes...I should say so," Susanna said, eyeing the cut of the clothing appreciatively. "You look very nice."

"Did you choose this one?" he asked, holding his coat out for her inspection.

"I believe I did. Lily tended to choose lighter colors...I rather like you in black, but this makes you look...striking," she murmured, slipping her arms around his waist. "Everyone has apparently retired for the evening."

"Indeed?"

"Yes," she whispered, "I wondered if you might like to eat...first."

Her words sent a shiver through his body, and he glanced at the food with disinterest. Shaking his head slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers. "Food is secondary to what I would like to do."

Lacing her fingers with his, she smiled up at him. "When we are married, where do you want to live?"

Erik stopped kissing her cheek, looking at her blankly for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"We will need a house...I don't want my old one...I'd rather not have yours, and we can't live with my father forever. Where will we live?"

His mouth opened, but for several moments nothing came out. He hadn't considered anything beyond her being his wife. He knew nothing about marriage or what a husband would need to do for their wife...what he would need to do for her children.

"Wherever you like, I suppose," he finally said. "I would imagine you would want to stay in the village. So...it is your choice...I think that is the appropriate response...to give the woman what she wants."

Smiling ruefully, she nodded. "Perhaps...but I am not the sort of woman who demands compliance. You have no idea? What about...what about your livelihood? Do you have any intentions of pursuing a career?"

"Not so far," he said quietly. "I have a sufficient supply of wealth...although I rather need to rid myself of a couple of estates. I have considered selling some of my music, but I doubt anyone would buy it."

Susanna's eyes brightened immediately. "Oh, but your father...he would love to help you. I know he would."

"He would," Erik agreed, but the idea wasn't something he really liked. "I still don't think any of my old scores would sell. Too...depressing."

"Then you can write more," she said, determined to be cheerful and encouraging. "Am I not proper inspiration?" she asked coyly, batting her eyes dramatically at him.

His heart did a somersault inside, loving the playful and youthful way she teased him. He felt younger when he was with her. Lighter inside, and he gathered her against him in a heated embrace, driving out all thoughts of music, of houses, and of any stray thoughts she might have had for the food.

"Stay with me, forever," he said, his tone full of demand, not the loving way he had meant to say it. "You must promise to never leave me, Susanna. Promise me."

"I promise," she whispered, her throat aching suddenly at his desperate words. "I'll stay with you, Erik."

He pulled her insistently to the bed, tugging at his clothing, then at hers, alternating to see whose removal was more necessary. She helped him, complying with each demand, meeting each kiss with an aching fever. Sliding the covering on to prevent a child, Erik was in control this time, his powerful body moving over her, his hands threading through her hair as he moved inside her. Susanna arched against him, feeling him moving harder and faster than before, her breath catching sharply as she felt him slide deep, and holding still for several moments.

His eyes met hers, a sense of domination and equality meeting momentarily as he gazed into her blue eyes. "Susanna," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips before he began to move again.

"Erik."

She wrapped herself around him, feeling him inside, loving the weight of his body on hers, the feel of his cheek pressed to her cheek. There was nothing more she wanted than to do this with him the rest of her life. To be his wife, to love him, to show him that trust and family meant more than scars, more than anything that had been done to him.

To show him that he could trust her, never to hurt him. Never to leave him...never to abandon him.

He kissed her shoulders, her breasts, his mouth hot and open across her nipples, then sweeping back up her neck. Feeling the rocking waves of pleasure, she gripped him tighter with her legs, feeling his mouth cover hers as she shuddered with gentle violence and she was unable to suppress a moan. He began thrusting inside her again, and she felt the sensation of his release...and immediately knew something was different.

It brought her greater pleasure, and she closed her eyes as he held himself inside as his own climax finally subsided.

"Susanna...?"

"It's okay," she whispered. "It doesn't matter."

Erik pulled her closer, wondering why this time had felt more powerful than the last two. Wondering if it meant it would only get better, although he couldn't imagine it possible. But she sounded strange...

"What doesn't matter?" he asked, finally managing to catch his breath.

"The...the uh...contraption..."

Embarrassed, he averted his eyes from her. "What about it?"

"It...broke..."


	87. Sour War

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik held her in the darkness, his mind racing as he considered the possibilities of what happened could mean. He was positive he wasn't prepared for a child of his own. Daniel and Elisabeth were different...but to bring his own into the world...he wasn't sure he would ever be ready for that responsibility. She lay with her back to his chest, and he kissed a warm area on the back of her neck, his stomach tightening when she gave a sound of pleasure.

Despite his reservations about having a child so soon, he also felt intense satisfaction, knowing that there had been nothing between them this time. He wanted to do it again, and revel in the almost primitive, possessive way it made him feel. To claim her as his, completely. To give her his child, and watch her grow and become beautiful with motherhood.

"Do you think it's possible...?"

"Of course it's possible," she murmured, lacing her fingers through his. "It's not a guarantee, but it doesn't matter if it happens now, does it?"

"No," Erik sighed, pulling her closer to him. "But I rather think I might like to wait. Besides...how many more children could you want? The two you have are perfectly fine."

"I think I should like more," she said, trying to picture what a child with Erik would look like. "Haven't you ever wanted a child of your own?"

"I've never thought about it," Erik admitted. "There was never a reason for me to torture myself with the idea...I never expected this," he said, placing his arm around her bare stomach and tracing almost absently. Almost. The sensation of being this close to another person...in this way...was distracting enough. The fact that she was nude, and lying in his arms was more than enough to send his blood stirring again. "I never thought I would have the opportunity..."

"Elisabeth adores you. And Daniel is quite taken with you as well," she said softly. "He said he pestered you with lots of questions when he helped you with the house."

Erik's hand paused, his fingers digging in slightly. She felt his head sink to the pillow behind her, and hoped she had not upset him. She had danced around the mask...side stepped away from any mention of it and his hair. Tried to avoid thinking about when he would want to finish the house and want her to see it. And he also wanted to visit Derrik's grave...something she had never wanted to do.

"What did he say...specifically?"

"Nothing...I just was wondering if you were alright with his nosiness. He's only a child," she said, twisting in his arms, even though she couldn't see him.

"I was gentle with him," Erik said, his tone slightly defensive. "I didn't tell him anything he couldn't handle...and I wasn't angry. I understand his...nosiness...I knew his mother as a child. Remember?"

"I remember you telling me stories. Ones you made up...not any from a story book. About witches and dragons...magical horses, and beautiful princesses..."

"Beautiful princesses?" he repeated, sounding offended. "No...I'm certain you added that part yourself."

"Maybe," she conceded. "Actually...I was always the beautiful princess...and you were my knight."

He gave a bark of laughter that caused her to jump, and she thumped his ribs sharply, protesting his disruption of her fairy tale.

"I was a little girl. You can't fault me for dreaming."

"Oh, you'd make a great princess, my lady. I was amused at your choice of knight," he said, laughter still evident in his tone.

"Don't," Susanna said softly.

Erik was silent, unwilling to delve into a discussion about his features with her. God forbid she call him handsome again. He had avoided his appearance for the most part, and didn't want to even remember he was different when he was with her. She treated him no differently...but he knew she was ignoring the mask, and everything she could not see. If he had his way, she would ignore it forever.

He winced as he felt her pull away from him, hearing her fumbling with the lamp beside the bed. She turned it dim, sitting up and pulling the sheet across her body.

"Erik, we can't keep doing this," she whispered.

"Yes we can," he said irritably. "Turn the lamp off, and come back to bed."

"We're going to be married. I don't want anything between us..."

"The mask stays. Don't ever say anything like that again," he said curtly, his green eyes scorching her with anger and pain. "Never...do not even speak of it to me. Or anyone else."

Erik saw the hurt in her eyes, the wounded look she gave him as he denied her. But he would not back down from this. Let her do as she wanted...but the mask was never to be removed. Never to be talked about. As long as it remained, he was safe.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw her hand move, and he was off the bed instantly, retreating backwards into the shadows.

"My God, I wasn't trying to hurt you! I wasn't trying to take it," she said, looking at him with indignation. "Please come back...please, Erik."

He stared at her hand accusingly, leaning forward to snatch a towel from a chair and wrapping it around his hips. "Then what were you doing?"

"I was trying to...to touch you!" she lay back on the bed in frustration, praying for patience with him. She had known that intimacy and trust were not the same...and now the problem was getting increasingly large. And try as she may, she couldn't stop the hurt she felt that he didn't trust her. He had done the most beautiful thing in the world with her, and yet still didn't trust her. "What will it take?" she asked quietly, drawing her knees to her chest. "Is there anything I can do to earn your confidence? Anything...anything at all?"

"Yes," Erik said, his tone faint and hollow. "Never ask me about it again. Never look...if something happens...you must promise to never look at me."

Susanna looked at him in dismay, feeling the shard of truth hitting her heart. "Never? That's a very long time. I love you...doesn't that mean anything?"

"If you love me, you will do as I ask," he whispered, unable to look her in the eyes. It was a manipulative move...one he would have used on Christine. And as much as it shamed him to say the words, they brought him relief at the same time. But the shame was much greater. He didn't want to use Susanna's love for him against her.

"You're being selfish," she said quietly, calling him precisely what he was. "And I won't lower myself to that game. Fine...we don't have to discuss it tonight. But we will...and before we get married, Erik. We will have nothing between us when we get married."

She turned onto her side and extinguished the lamp, hearing nothing in the room to indicate whether he would join her or not. Tears slid across the bridge of her nose and dropped onto her pillow, and she let them fall, uninhibited. After several moments, she heard him shuffling around, then the weight of the bed as it depressed beside her.

An apology lodged in his throat, and he lay stiffly beside her, entirely uncertain now what to do. He had an angry, nude female in his bed, and there was terror in the thought of reaching out and putting his arms around her again. She could leave...flee to her own room. Demand he remove the mask, or try to take it from him.

It was the soft, muffled sob that forced his hand. She hiccuped quietly, managing to stifle another one. Turning on his side, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her back to him. She turned immediately after he made the first move, and relief shot through him as she wound her arms across his chest and burrowed close. His thumbs found her wet cheek, and he kissed her wet eyelashes, placing a timorous one along her lips before settling more firmly against her.

"Susanna...forgive me," he whispered, cradling her head in his hands and stroking her hair.

"Forgiven," she returned immediately, although the ache in her heart did not ease. If anything, it grew, because she sensed that their future was going to be filled with a thousand moments like this, if she couldn't get him to release his fears. His pain...his mistrust of everyone.

And his sister was not helping matters.

Tomorrow, Susanna promised herself, she would have a talk with Lily. It was time someone made her realize that she couldn't say and do anything she wanted. She wasn't sure what had happened between Jackson and Lily...all she knew was that after Duncan Pierce had called off their engagement, Lily had turned bitter and angry.

There was something more...she was sure of it. And tomorrow she would find out, and try to stop the war she had waged against all men...especially her two undeserving brothers.


	88. Entendres and Apologies

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Rand was able to point his finger on the exact moment he had known the little witch was trying to drive him insane. The fleeting glimpse of a bare leg through the bedroom door had been an accident. Her long black braid flipping out and catching him across the face had been irritating, but non intentional. The sometimes bawdy entendres were amusing, although he couldn't figure out why she was trying to antagonize him.

Mirela had been doing it all day, and unfortunately it was raining or he would have been outside doing something useful. Like plowing a field...putting Cesar to use...beating his head against a rock. Anything other than listening to her singing softly in a beautiful, mystical language from the kitchen as she was cooking. And it was not the typical under your breath humming that women usually indulged in. He could hear the words...although he could not make them out. He felt her voice wrap around him, and he sat in his chair clutching the arms in agony. He would have rather taken the strap than listen to her, but the lightning compelled him to stay inside.

Eli sat across from him, seemingly absorbed in a book, although the hint of a smile was on his face as he too listened. And occasionally he heard Rachel's dim laughter, something he had not heard once since she had come here. This was what he had always wanted for her. A woman to keep her company, to teach her about kindness...to help her learn to trust men, when they were worth it. To give up the protective walls around her heart, and let someone in every now and then. He would not blame her for keeping to herself...but someday he had every hope and dream that some young man would come along and bring her to life. He would be inspected rigorously of course...but Rand knew that there were good men in the world.

He wanted one for Rachel.

Of course, he had wanted Susanna for Rachel...but it hadn't worked out like he planned. He would have given anything to marry Rachel's teacher, to make them both happy. To take Daniel and Elisabeth and raise them the same way he had Eli and Rachel. He had no delusions about being passionately in love with Susanna...but she was a good hearted woman, and would have fit perfectly with his family. Somehow he had always thought her bright smile would heal them all, and fix wounds that were too painful to open. To soothe over everything, and make the past remain there.

Mirela would have him rip the stitches open...bring her pain back. Force Rachel into confession, make her talk about her dreams, about memories that were hopefully not as bad as she thought they were. She had only been five when she had come here...God in heaven if the things she screamed about were real.

"Uncle Rand?"

He glanced up to see Rachel smiling at him shyly. She had been coming in here every hour with some morsel of food for him to try. It had all been different...delicious...but unlike anything he'd ever had before. He didn't even know he had things in his kitchen to make exotic foods, but somehow Mirela had unlocked some combination in his pantry that produced heavenly delights.

"Yes?"

"She wants you to come in here and try something else...you too, Eli," Rachel said, before scurrying back to the kitchen.

Eli was out of the room before Rand had even lifted his foot. Grumbling, but intrigued by the smells coming from the kitchen, Rand followed.

"You sound as if I'm going to give you a death blow," Mirela commented before handing him a piece of odd looking bread. "If you don't want to eat it, you're free to leave."

"Once again, this is my house," he reminded her, his teeth sinking into something that immediately dissolved when he tried to eat it. He fumbled with crumbs which descended all across his shirt and hands, looking like a fool as he tried to save the bread and his dignity all at the same time.

Mirela laughed, watching as he turned three different shades of red. Rachel and Eli laughed as well, and taking pity on him she brushed at his shirt herself.

"You're supposed to eat the entire thing," she advised him solemnly. "It saves frustration, and the floor from needing cleaned."

He had stopped moving as soon as she touched him, and Mirela watched him swallow hard. Meeting his eyes, she felt her stomach flip oddly inside. His chest felt solid and warm beneath her hand, and the nerves in her fingers danced suddenly. He stared down at her quietly, and she noticed not for the first time how warm and kind his eyes were, although there was something else inside as he gazed at her. It took several moments, but somehow she stepped away from him and broke the connection. Feeling breathless, she cursed herself for thinking that he had wanted to kiss her. The dark heat in his eyes had been lust, yes, but not the tenderness she had imagined.

Men did not look at her and see someone they wanted to make love to. Sex. They saw a dirty Gypsy, a filthy slave. Someone they could degrade and force into disgusting acts. Someone they could call vile names, and beat if she did not answer to them. She had never desired a man. Never gone to bed with a man she wanted...never made love to someone she loved.

After Erik...she didn't believe in it anymore. After her marriage to Rulv, she knew what her role was in the world, and for awhile had given into it. Until Madame Allard had sold her. Until she had found independence and freedom with a man who wasn't capable of love. Who only wanted a companion, and a bedmate, nothing more.

"Next time," Rand said softly, "I'll remember that."

He sat down at the table, dry mouthed as he watched her work in his kitchen. Her words last night had haunted him, about what Susanna's mother had done to her, about what she thought Rachel needed. He wasn't sure if the look she had just given him had been another attempt to confuse and frustrate him, or if she had been as taken by surprise as he was. He knew he could still feel the imprint of all five of her fingers and the small, sweet heat of her palm.

"Here, try another," Mirela said, her tone brusque and impatient as she gave him more bread. "Try not to make a mess, you giant ape."

Eli and Rachel gaped at her, then looked at him for a clue about what they should do. Rachel covered her mouth with her hand, and giggled. Eli snickered outright, not even trying to hide it. A sharp glance at both of them sent them out of the room, although peals of laughter could be heard quite clearly as the ran up the stairs.

When Mirela turned around, expecting to find him angry, she was surprised to find him staring at her intently.

"Was it something I said?" she asked, sarcasm rampant in her tone.

"You make them laugh," Rand said quietly. "If it is at the cost of my dignity, I would gladly make a fool of myself for their happiness."

"You sell yourself short. You make them happy...make them feel safe. It's more than most people had," she replied, turning around to stare at the unneeded food she had prepared. She had done it to keep her hands busy, so she wouldn't have to think about Erik and the trouble he was in. So she wouldn't have to think about the man whose house she was staying in, and the way her sharp tongue kept finding her in trouble.

"Are you married?"

Mirela spun around to look at him, her eyes guarded and wary. "Why?" she asked, her voice filled with suspicion.

Rand hesitated for a long time, considering a million reasons to keep his mouth shut, and only one that would keep it open. And it was far more important than his pride. He had already been turned down by one woman...why not make it two? Susanna had not killed him, but he was quite certain this one would be more crushing.

"I need a wife," he said simply, looking in her eyes, and nowhere else. "Rachel...she needs a woman in her life. Eli, well, he's grown. But if I'd had the opportunity years ago, I would have found one when he was still young enough for it to matter."

Mirela blinked at him, uncertain why he would ask her. He couldn't possibly mean...

"Forgive me, but I've already experienced married life," she said sharply. "It wasn't quite to my taste."

"So you are married?"

"No. As far as I'm concerned, the marriage was null and void when he sold me. Besides," she shrugged then turned her back on him. "I don't think the Gypsies marriage customs are considered legal in France. Trust me, Monsieur, there are far more suitable women for the position of wife for you. And I'm hardly appropriate for Rachel. I'm possibly more twisted than she is."

"She's never laughed...not once can I recall her laughter in nine years," Rand said, gentle and reassuring. "You seem like a lovely young woman..."

"Young?" she snorted, giving him a deceptively kind smile over her shoulder. "How old are you?"

"Thirty nine. If my menial mind has calculated correctly, I'm older than you are," he said, giving her a little smirk.

"My answer is no," she said abruptly. "No. I will not marry you. Don't ask again."

"Forgive me, then," he said quietly. "It wasn't my intention to offend you."

Offend? She thought. He hadn't offended her in the least. It would have been an honor to be a woman here for Rachel. It was the husband part that turned her stomach. The idea...even if he was handsome, and nice...of allowing another man license over her. The thought of taking him to bed. If he was a bad man, masquerading as a kind one, it wouldn't hurt as badly as if he were good, and lowering himself to be pleasured by someone as used and jaded as she was.

"My lady?"

Mirela felt his hand settle on her shoulder, and she jumped slightly in surprise. The hand fell away immediately as he waited for her to turn.

"Am I wrong?" he asked softly as she slowly looked at him. "Forgive me, once again, but it has been a long time since I've...since I've..."

"Been with a woman?" she asked, her voice tinged with a hardness...a coarseness that hadn't quite left her.

"Yes," he said, grateful for her supplied sentence, but missing the dangerous gleam in her eyes. "Am I wrong, or are you trying to drive me insane?"

She looked at him in confusion, and he immediately knew he was wrong. It had just been too long since he'd had a woman, and being in close proximity to her had caused him to imagine she was trying to entice him. And he had just proven to her what an ass he could be; what an ass all men could be.

"You mean because I'm a whore, I must be sending out signals that I want you to mount me?" she spit at him, her eyes narrowing in anger and hate.

"I'm sorry," Rand whispered in horror. "No...it wasn't what I meant. Not at all. Christ, woman, you cannot seriously think that I would want that! I just asked you to be my wife!"

He backed away from her, giving her space because she looked like she needed it. Of all the things he could have said. Of all the ways he could have broken whatever little trust she had in him, he was certain he had done it the worst way. Made her think he thought she was a tease.

"Wives are merely _legal_ whores. A document...a ceremony...nothing changes. You still belong to a man, and still feel dirty after they've planted their seed."

Rand sank back in his chair, feeling stunned and shaken. He'd never met a woman like her...never met someone so disenchanted and abused. Except maybe Erik and Rachel. "I'm sorry," he repeated, though he was sure she didn't believe him. "I never...never want a woman to feel that way about me. I thought...the leg...the hair. You were singing...," he stammered, staring up at her helplessly. "You cannot be serious. I've been with plenty of women who didn't feel like that after I left them. I've never paid anyone..."

"How do you know how they felt? You left them, correct? Why didn't you marry any of them?"

Embarrassed at bringing up his past love life, he shook his head. "I...I don't know. They were all...most of them...older than me. Not exactly women I would-"

He broke off quickly, beginning to feel his hole getting larger. He'd dug himself so deeply now, he could no longer see light. Rubbing his face wearily, he gave up. Let her think what she pleased about him. It didn't matter anymore. He'd done more than offend her. He'd possibly hurt her, and he barely even knew her.

Maybe if he was lucky Erik would take her off his hands, and Susanna would fall into his. Maybe Erik wouldn't try to kill him for making a botched pass on a woman who claimed to have been in love with him.

"Forget it," he finally muttered. "I apologize again, Madame."

Mirela lowered her eyes to the floor, seeing how uncomfortable he was, how disturbed he was by her accusations. His manner was gentle, still kind. Unfailingly kind, if not a little sarcastic. But so far he had offered her marriage, and asked her if she deliberately drove him insane. But he had not done so in a way that made her feel belittled, or even ashamed. If anything, his proximity had caused her body to ache. In a way it never had before. She had never found sex with a man enjoyable. Not even Mathias...the man who had given her his wealth.

"What did you mean?" she blurted out, then felt her face heat. "About the leg...and the rest...?"

"Nothing. It was nothing."

She was staring at him expectantly, and he felt as if he didn't tell her, she would really think he had thought she was trying to entice him.

Clearing his throat, he tried hard not to sound like an idiot as he explained that he had seen her leg through her bedroom door as he descended before first light. It had been propped against the mattress as she smoothed something across her knee. And she had spun her hair into his face before serving his meal.

"You...you made a reference last night...which greatly annoyed me, and this morning you mentioned something about large sausages," he said, his mouth growing drier as he watched her blush. "As I said...I do apologize."

Mirela couldn't imagine what made him think she was trying to seduce him, or tease him, if that was the basis for his conclusions. It was just like a man, though, to take a smile or word out of context and imagine that a woman wanted them. All men were just alike it seemed. Even this one, although he had not done anything lewd or cruel about it.

"You're a strange man," she said, giving him a wry smile. "But I don't expect apologies from you. They're unnecessary. Perhaps you could visit one of your..._mature_...lady friends. That should cure your thoughts. I'll even watch your niece for you, should you need a few...minutes..."

Rand said nothing as he stalked from the room in mortification and burning anger. He didn't want anyone. He wanted her...and he knew that she would never even allow him so much as a touch. He'd never desired someone so much, and knew exactly why. She was different. Exotic. Every man who ever saw her probably wanted her as much as he did, for precisely the same reason. Mirela was the most beautiful woman he'd ever spoken to. Her dark beauty was incomparable to anyone else.

It was her downfall...because any man who met her would want her, and she knew it. Too bad she would never know some men didn't equate sex with possession...and a wife as a slave. Too bad she would never know she was free, because she couldn't see beyond the walls of her own prison.


	89. English Cow

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna knocked hesitantly on Lily's door, shooing Erik down the hall and out of sight. He had been contrite this morning, trying to please her and apologize, but not feeling in the least sorry that he had no intentions of trusting her.

"Are you sure?" he asked solemnly, looking a little lost and afraid, as if their fight was going to last forever.

"Go...Jackson wants to show you something, so go. I need to talk to your sister," she repeated, waving her hands at him.

Watching him finally shrug and disappear, she breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was Lily to say something before Susanna had the chance to talk with her about her behavior towards Erik.

"One moment," she heard Lily call from inside, sounding irritated already. The expression on her face matched her tone, but she wiped it away when she saw it was Susanna. "Oh...I thought you might have been Jackson again. Please, come in."

Susanna entered the room, noticing immediately it had double adjoining rooms, and wondered if Colin knew about hers and Erik's. It was embarrassing to think about, and since Lily had been so kind as to announce at breakfast the other morning that she had knocked on her door and not received a reply at midnight, everyone knew where she had been.

If she had been thinking clearly, she could have denied hearing a knock and claimed to be a heavy sleeper. But the blush that had lit her face inside and out, and the unstoppable smile that Erik had possessed had been enough for her not to even attempt a lie.

"So, are you ready to go shopping?" Lily asked brightly, although she looked as if she had just risen from bed. It was a dreary day out, and Susanna had no intentions of setting foot outside the hotel.

"No...haven't you heard the storm outside?"

"Is it?" she said, looking out the window in surprise. "My God, I think the floods are coming again!"

"It does look treacherous...but actually, I came to talk to you about Erik."

Lily narrowed her eyes immediately, tossing her unbound hair across her shoulder. "Oh, Lord. Not another lecture about hurting Erik's feelings, or damaging his fragile ego. Please, I've already heard enough from Papa and Jackson."

Susanna's rile rose instantly, and she stared at the young woman who had become her friend in contempt. "How dare you, Lily. You know how..._fragile_...he is. You know that a single word or look could destroy him. Why are you so intent on hurting him? What has gotten into you, to make you so hateful and spiteful?"

"Hateful? Spiteful?" she repeated, shrugging her slender shoulder. "He just needs to learn to deal with reality. Hiding behind a Phantom's facade has done nothing for him. He wanted to expose my weakness...then I will expose his."

She breathed quietly, steadily as she felt Susanna's eyes on her. Rushed irritation hit her at once, and she closed her eyes to stifle urges that she could do nothing about. She had been near the edge...on the edge...wanting to vault across it for so long now, she couldn't remember a time when numbness had been her friend.

Erik had taken her coping mechanism, and she couldn't find that sliver of sanity she had once possessed. She had never realized how much she depended on it, until it hadn't been there anymore.

"What are you talking about? You are certainly not going to expose him...do you understand? I swear, if you even think about taking his mask, I'll make you regret it," Susanna said sharply. "First you make him play in front of a crowded church, make comments about his appearance...try to change him. And now you want to _expose_ him? What's the matter with you?"

Lily rubbed her face wearily, feeling a sudden urge to shout. To scream. To rip her hair out.

"What do you know?" she snapped suddenly, her tongue loosening under the weight of desperation. "You're perfect. You're so bloody perfect, all the damned time. You don't understand either one of us."

Lily's eyes had taken on a wildness...a crazedness that she had seen in Erik's before. Last night, in fact. She had changed greatly over the last year. First depression, then this sarcastic, caustic girl had taken her place. Guarded and nearly hateful at all times, and never honest with anyone around her, she was like an angry hornet, always waiting for the perfect victim to sting.

"Is this about-"

"Don't say it!" Lily suddenly shouted at her, pointing a long finger an inch away from her face. "Don't mention his name, or I will throw you from this window, I swear to God!"

"-Duncan Pierce..."

Susanna watched her begin to shake, a violent tremor that began with her shoulders, then extended throughout her body. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she made a strangled sound in her throat. "Lily?"

Her hand flew out before she could stop it. She didn't want to stop it. Lily wanted to hit her. To keep hitting her, until she was bleeding...until she was unrecognizable. In this moment, she very much felt like killing her...but more than anything it was herself that she hated.

She felt her hand cut across Susanna's face, and didn't stop herself as she did it again. She knew immediate Hell in the silence after the resounding cracks. To her credit, Susanna did not fall. She did not stumble, or even cry out. When she lifted her surprised blue eyes to hers, Lily saw the blood on her cheek. A small cut grew beneath her left eye, and Lily felt the imprint of one thousand needles on her heart.

Stunned, Susanna could only stare at Lily. She had never been struck before. Never in the face. Never...not since she was a child and received her father's cursory punishments. She lifted a hand to her cheek, startled as she felt the wet stickiness of her blood. It wasn't the wound that hurt her. The blows had been minuscule compared to the way she felt inside. She had been nosy...poking her face where it didn't belong. She had come in here to discuss Erik, and gotten a course in English diplomacy.

"Just leave Erik alone," Susanna mumbled, her face still stinging, but it was nothing compared to her pride, which burned and withered away. "You stupid...British _cow_..."

A cruel endearment, and it brought her no satisfaction to say it. But she left the room with her head high, and her heart at her feet. She would have made it too. She could have made it all the way to her room, and had a great tantrum by herself. The tears had already formed, and the ache in her throat sweet as she fumbled with the door.

"Susanna?"

Stilling at the sound of Colin's voice, she paused with her back to him. "Yes?"

"Is everything alright? I thought I heard you arguing with my daughter."

Her throat had already betrayed her with a muffled sob, but she kept her back to him. She had been so close to her moment of private feminine indulgence in tears that it wasn't possible to hold them back anymore. "Fine," she whispered, but she knew he could tell that it wasn't.

Colin approached her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She turned her face to him, and he saw the blood on her cheek, the swelling around the edges of her eye. The tears that had begun to fall.

He grew still as anger overtook him. Still as he struggled to believe what he was witnessing.

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice taking on the authoritative edge he used with his own daughter.

"It's alright," she whispered, struggling to breath. "I'm fine. I'm fine...really."

"Did Erik do this?" he asked, fear in the resonance of his voice.

"What? No...God, no. Erik would never _hit_ me," she said, looking at him with confusion and disbelief. "This was the other one...that demon child you call your daughter."


	90. Prostitute Belle and the Prefect

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"This is what you want to show me?" Erik asked, staring doubtfully at the Loire River docks. "I've seen this before, you know. They aren't impressive. Especially this particular section."

Jackson shrugged, giving him a sheepish smile. "I just wanted to get away from Lily for awhile. It's raining. She's going to be pestering both of us. Let Papa deal with her for awhile."

"Couldn't we have done this somewhere...drier?"

"I didn't think you would want to go into any shops, or anywhere people would be milling around. So...where else?" Jackson said, fixing him with a bland look. "You really should work on your manners. People won't look at you like you're a bastard calf."

"My manners are fine," he said, beginning to feel more than a little irate. He could be warm and dry, under the attentive eyes of his new fiance. Trying to make her feel more comfortable with the fact that he was hiding himself from her. And more than just what was beneath the mask. "And they look at me like _that_, because I look like _this_. Not because I happen to be unfriendly and introverted."

Eyeing a figure that appeared to be wandering closer towards them, Erik tugged his cloak around his face more. Any closer and they would run screaming towards the river. And the closer they came, he realized it wasn't the haggard beggar he once thought. It was a prostitute, and by the looks of things, she had seen better days.

"We should leave. We're either going to wind up mugged, or you're going to have to explain to her," Erik pointed at the lady as she not so subtly changed her direction from the river to them, "why you don't want to pay her for her time."

"That isn't a woman," Jackson said, turning his back on her dismissively. "And don't change the subject-"

"I didn't. We should be talking about why you're avoiding Lily as if she's the playground bully. What's the matter?" Erik smirked slightly, enjoying the rise of color around Jackson's ears. "No sarcastic comment? Perhaps what you really need to do is move out from under the influence of your parents, and find your own feet. It isn't so hard, really. I did it when I was eleven."

Further embarrassed, Jackson shrugged again. "Maybe I will."

"Do you have any funds of your own?"

"Not really your business is it?" Jackson muttered, running his hand through his hair. "Besides, I've stayed to help Lily."

"You aren't helping. You're assisting her to live a life of the least amount of disturbance, and give her what she wants. She's a spoiled brat."

Jackson said nothing, turning his head to stare out over the Loire. Erik was right, he did do that for her. He took the blame, where he wasn't sure there was any. But he knew some of the way Lily behaved was his fault...or the reasons for it anyway.

"Want a tussle, love?"

Jackson glanced at Erik, seeing a half smile on his lips as he turned his mask away from the bedraggled prostitute. A glance at her, and a whiff had him thinking a definitive_ no_.

"Not right now, darling," he said, offering her a charming smile. "Perhaps later."

"Oh, you're a young one...the both of yous," she said, and Jackson could see she was most certainly not. She had to at least be his mother's age. The thought sent a flash of pity through him. It was common in London...anywhere really, to be approached by these types of women. He usually avoided them at all costs.

"Have a good day, Madame," Jackson said, very firmly. He tried to steer Erik towards the steps that led back up to the levee, but the dame was having none of it.

"A moment, Monsieur, that's all I needs," the woman continued, her hand clasping over Jackson's wrist. "Come, love. All Belle needs is a moment."

He stared down at her filthy hands, not feeling disgust, but more pity. Her nails were torn and black, fingers blunt and wrinkled. The edges of her dress was so far beyond repair that nothing could have cleansed it. Except fire.

"No...I'm sorry. I'm already occupied."

"Christ," Erik muttered when the old woman began to snicker. "That wasn't what he meant."

"Sure...sure," she laughed, her grungy hair obliterating her bleary eyes from their view.

Reaching into his pocket he shoved a handful of money into Jackson's fist, "Give her this. Just get rid of her so we can leave."

The woman stopped laughing, looking at the money hungrily. Either she was used to people paying her to send her off, or it didn't offend her that he'd rather lose money than take her behind a pier. As soon as she was gone Erik turned towards the steps, not bothering to see if Jackson followed.

"Do you always pay women not to have sex with you?" Jackson said, rather loudly from the riverside. "It's no wonder-"

"Shut up," Erik tossed over his shoulder, feeling like strangling his entire family. "Useless...the lot of them. Gossip mongers, every last one," he grumbled, not paying attention as he pictured something equally humiliating to do to Jackson. Surely after all these years there was a prank or four left in him.

"Excuse me..."

He glanced up to see a blond man in a velvet hat staring at him, rather levelly. Glancing around for a moment, Erik spied neither mob nor weapon, although he was certain the man had been watching and listening to his conversation with Jackson.

"Are you speaking to me?"

Of course he was. There wasn't anyone else around, and Jackson was still standing at the bottom of the stairs. But why anyone would deliberately engage him in conversation was beyond him. His mask was visible, quite clearly.

"I've heard about you. People all around Orleans are talking about you," the man said, not really staring, but not looking him in the eyes either. His face was as wrinkled and dry as a gorge, his height not quite reaching Erik's shoulder. He really wasn't the brightest person he'd ever met, to talk to him this way, but there was something in his eyes that said he knew what he was doing.

He didn't look foolish, but perhaps he was.

"Are you a journalist?" Erik asked, scowling immediately. "I suggest you get out of here, before my good nature deserts me."

The man shrugged, turning back towards the river. "No, I'm not a journalist. Just...curious."

Erik turned his head, seeing Jackson once again speaking with the old woman. He actually appeared to have raced after her to speak with her again. "Haven't you heard about what happened to the cat?" Erik questioned, giving the man a scathing glance. "I'm nothing special. Go away."

"Are you staying in Orleans long?"

Erik ignored him for several moments, hoping Jackson could feel his eyes boring holes into the back of his head. He wanted to shout at him, but wouldn't give the stranger the satisfaction of seeing his discomfort.

"No," he snapped. "I'm leaving. Tomorrow. Now go away. You can tell the citizens of Orleans they're safe, and no longer have to fear the freak."

"Your words, not mine," the man muttered. "I saw you talking to Belle. She gets around."

"And looks as if-"

Erik stopped, giving the man a wary look. Why was he attempting to have a normal conversation with a stranger? They usually didn't tend to strike them up in any case.

"What?"

"She looks as if she's been around for a hundred years," Erik said flatly. "Jackson! It's time to go!"

Jackson turned away from Belle, seeing Erik and another man on the bridge above the river. Erik looked irritated, and the man beside him was gazing vacantly across the water.

"Sorry, Belle. I have to go. That's all the money I have...take it. For your grandchildren."

Not likely to be grateful, the old woman tottered off. She would probably spend it on liquor, or worse, but at least he wouldn't feel guilty later when he spied his full wallet.

When he made it up to the bridge, the man was still there, and Erik's expression matched the weather.

"Make a new friend, brother?" Jackson asked lightly, looking at the man.

"Not likely."

"Same here," the man said, giving Jackson a disgruntled look.

"Jackson Talbot," he offered his hand. "This is my brother, Erik."

Erik said nothing, glaring out at the water.

"I know who you both are. I'm Prefect Gordon Parlange."

* * *

The ride back to the Metairie was fairly quiet. The Prefect graciously offered to escort them back, under the pretense of hospitality. Erik had the feeling it was slightly less than cordial graciousness, but didn't deny the man more chances to gaze at him. And if the destination had changed in the slightest from the route back to the hotel, Erik would have gladly throttled him.

"You're returning to Artenay tomorrow?"

"I am," Erik replied. "We all are."

"How many is in your party?"

"Five."

"Perhaps you won't mind another guest in your boxcar," the Prefect said, not bothering to hide the slight command in his tone this time.

"My father said you wouldn't disturb us until we reached Artenay," Jackson protested.

Erik nudged him slightly, giving his head a slight shake. It would only make the man more curious. Let him do as he pleased. "I have nothing to hide. He can ride with Father and Lily," Erik said, giving Jackson a knowing grin.

"Lily? Is she your sister?" the Prefect asked, his eyes sharpening at once. "The dark haired one?"

Erik inclined his head. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you've been following me. Merely surprised that I didn't notice. I generally do when someone has been paying extra attention to me...or rather, more attention than usual."

"I've been accused of being excellent at my job, Monsieur Dessain. I've read over the file from the fire all those years ago...all the missing persons reports that your father filed under the old Prefect."

"Congratulations."

"I also believe that despite what your father told me, you were at the scene of the crime at Madame Croix's home."

"Accident," Erik corrected softly. "And...so what if I was there? I may or may not have found the body. Do you think I killed him? I didn't...and still do not know his identity."

"Neither do I...but I also do not appreciate being lied to. Your father has set me on edge, your fiance as well-"

"She had nothing to do with it," Erik interrupted, glaring at him. "I was there. I found the body. I didn't kill him. Susanna was with her father and her children."

"We'll have plenty of time to discuss it," the Prefect said, giving a dismissive wave. "And if your sister is a screech owl, I'm not sitting with her."

Erik bit back a smile, promising himself that he would sit by Lily, if it would keep the policeman away from him. As the carriage slowed in front of the hotel, he gave a polite smile to the Prefect.

"Train leaves at half twelve," Erik instructed. "I would hate for you to miss it."

He left the man staring thoughtfully after him, climbing the stairs to their rooms swiftly. He wanted to see Susanna. Wanted to apologize again...wanted to ensure that she would let go every notion she had about him removing the mask. There were some things he just could not do.

As Erik pushed the ajar door open, the profile of his father kneeling in front of Susanna had him puzzled. Then her head lifted, and he saw the blood on her face, and the cut below her eye.

Feeling fear and anger hit him swiftly, he moved closer to stare into her bewildered face. "What the hell happened?" he demanded. "Who did this to you?"

* * *

Yea! I'm back, and had a good time. I wasn't feeling too hot this morning so I called in sick. Hope you enjoy this update. I had plenty of time to think about this story while I was gone, and have decided to go in a new direction with it. Hope you like what I do...

Should have at least one more update today. Enjoy.


	91. Family Gossip

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"It's alright-" Susanna began, but one look from each of the three men had her clamming up. Lily was going to be in major trouble, especially with Colin and Erik.

"What happened to her?" Erik asked, tilting her head back to inspect her eye. "Did you run into a door?"

"Not quite," Colin said, frowning fiercely. "She said Lily did this to her."

After several moments, in which Erik struggled to both breathe and think, he asked, "On purpose?"

Susanna managed a bitter laugh, knocking his hand away from her chin. "Oh, no. I ran _into_ her fist...I'm a glutton for pain. I'm fine. Nothing hurt but my pride."

In truth, the eye stung quite painfully, and it felt as if a twenty pound hammer were drilling into her skull, but she would never admit to it. She might cry...later...alone, but not in front of three grown men. Not in front of Lily either, although in the half hour since she'd been slugged, no one had seen her. She certainly hadn't made an attempt to apologize.

"Well, much of Lily is going to hurt," Colin said quietly. "And it won't just be her pride."

"No...don't," Susanna whispered tiredly. "Just leave her alone. Let her cool off."

"I'll do more than that. I'm sending her home. To England."

Erik glanced at his father still kneeling in front of Susanna. It was quite a shock to see so much gray in his hair. To see the white and silver streaks amidst the nearly black hair. But what he had said about sending her home...? That was the worst thing he could do to Lily. To give her freedom. To let her have control over her own environment.

"No."

Colin stood abruptly, still frowning. "Erik, she can't go around hitting people...especially not Susanna. My God, she's twice as big-"

"Hey!" Susanna protested, wincing as she touched her eye. They ignored her.

"-and if her temper is any indication of her judgment, I would say it's sorely lacking. I can't deal with her right now."

"Don't send her off," Erik said softly. He glanced at Jackson a moment, seeing his brother shaking his head slightly. "I'll talk with her."

Susanna glared at Erik, irritated. "I think England is the perfect solution. Send her home, Monsieur Talbot."

"I didn't say I agreed with her hitting you...why did she hit you anyway?"

"It's none of your business. Please...all of you may leave now. I'm fine."

Jackson immediately shuffled from the room, but Colin and Erik stayed, looking at her warily.

"I'll talk to her," Erik repeated, sighing wearily. The anger he felt at her would have to be held in check.

Susanna pointed towards the door, arching her brows when the men merely stared at her. "Get out...please."

"I'm very sorry, Susanna," Colin said, for perhaps the tenth time. "I'll make sure this doesn't happen again."

"If it happens again, I'm swinging back," she said heatedly. "And I can't promise I'll stop."

Giving Erik a helpless shrug, he left. When Erik turned, she was still pointing at the door, fixing him with the same look she'd given the other two.

"Susanna-"

"I'm in no mood to be coddled. If you're smart, you'll leave before I begin throwing things."

"Will you at least tell me why she did this?" he asked, exasperated. "God save me from females."

Her eyes narrowed again, and he noticed with relief there was nothing in the vicinity for her to throw. The skin around her eye was turning a lovely shade of purple, and she sat back in her chair to scowl at him. Taking the towel that his father had been using, he knelt in front of her and began gently wiping the blood away.

"I'm not a gossip," Erik commented, giving her a fierce look. "I'm not like them...I'm not some damn woman that needs to discuss other people to fuel my day."

"Are you accusing me of something?" she asked, her mouth tightening.

"_I'm_ not a gossip," he repeated, sitting back to look at her. "But if you said anything about Lily's past...then I know why she hit you."

"I might have mentioned something," Susanna grumbled, giving him a guilty look. "I went in there to see why she was pestering you and your brother. I thought...I don't know...that she would talk to me."

Erik hesitated to say anything. Feeling like a hypocrite for blasting his family for their interference in his life, and now he would do the same with Lily. And she trusted him...but this was taking it too far.

"Lily's in a lot of pain-"

"Yes. I know about her fiance jilting her. It doesn't give her an excuse to assault me," Susanna said curtly.

Erik's lips thinned, but he nodded. "No. It doesn't. When I...when Christine did what she did, I was worse than Lily. Much worse, Susanna. And the fiance wasn't the only thing that Lily lost. She was pregnant."

She held her breath as he told her what he knew of Duncan Pierce, and what had happened to Lily. Susanna closed her eyes, remembering the pain she had seen in Lily's eyes a thousand times. Ignoring, or not noticing it. Believing it was love, and not true love. That Lily would get over it in time. No one had ever breathed a word about a child.

"You were a doctor's wife," Erik said, plunging a dagger of betrayal in deeper. "What do you know about morphine?"

Opening her eyes, she stared at him a moment. "Well, Julian gave it to all his patients who couldn't stop drinking, or were depressed. Then, he used cocaine to treat the patients addicted to morphine. A very troubling cycle, and he hated it. But it's common medical practice. Why?"

He merely looked at her until he saw the pieces clicking in her mind. "You mustn't say anything. Not to anyone. To my father, to Lily. To yours. I took it away from her, and I suspect she's going through some very rough drug withdrawals."

Erik touched her cheek gingerly, wishing she had taken a swing at him instead.

"I'm telling you, because you'll be family. Part of this craziness that I've found myself in," he smiled slightly, "and because I don't want my father to send her away. She'll find more of it...she could kill herself with it."

"Erik," she whispered. "I didn't...I should have known. I'm so sorry."

"You couldn't have. Just let me talk to her."

"I should-"

"No."

Susanna fell silent, thinking about what Lily had said. About her being perfect. "She's envious of me," she said softly. "Of the children...of my marriage. She should know that she can have those things..."

"She hasn't been thinking clearly. I suspect she hasn't for quite some time now," Erik said, tracing a finger around her face. "But I know how she feels. She's going to be angry...sometimes she won't even know why. And I don't think she can control it. God knows I never could."

"You...?"

"A long time ago," he sighed. "A very long time ago. I was...I don't know what the hell I was. Just looking for escapism. It's not something I'm proud of, Susanna. Not something I would tell anyone. But, I do know what Lily's going through. Let me deal with her. Promise?"

"Promise," she said reluctantly. It was heartbreaking. In more ways than one, it was devastating.

Not only because of this gentle bond that Erik was developing with his sister...but Susanna couldn't help but think about her own brother. If Derrik would have had this relationship with her. If he would have protected her at all costs...defended her even when she was clearly being difficult. Even when she had hurt everyone and pushed them away.

"You're good to her," she said, feeling weepy at once. She was close to giving in to the tantrum she'd wanted earlier, only now it wasn't anger that she felt. Sorrow...and pity. For Lily.

Erik noticed the tears gathering in her eyes and put his arms around her, wondering how he had suddenly become a source of comfort to crying women. He was becoming a magnate for the hysterical females. A veritable leader for the hormonally off balanced other gender.

He chuckled at the irony, and held her close as she cried. It was a self indulgent bout, and she knew it, so he let her. There was nowhere else he wanted to be, but with her.

"I missed you today," he confessed, surprising himself. "Jackson and I met Belle, a fifty year old prostitute."

A well of laughter erupted from the shallow pit of sadness. "You what?"

"Yes. She fleeced us both, and we took nothing in return. Jackson and I both are beyond broke," he said, laughing when she stared at him for a moment. "Truly. I gave her mostly everything I had in my wallet, and Jackson gave her everything in his. A truly pitiful creature."

"Oh...well. I...I really don't know what to say to that. I suppose you would scowl if I said it was sweet."

He did, and she laughed at him.

"Then generous. It was very generous of you to pay a fifty year old prostitute to...what?"

"Leave us alone," he said, giving her a sly grin. "I think Jackson may have fancied her though. He chased her around the banks of the river. And that isn't a family secret. You may tell whomever you please."

* * *

Never a coward, Lily held her head up as she sat at the table. Amazingly Erik and Susanna were the only ones who spoke with her. Her father and Jackson studiously ignored her, especially when she laughed too loudly, or said something out of turn. She winced inwardly as she looked at Susanna's eye, but Susanna said nothing about their confrontation, and didn't even act upset with her.

"You should have told the Prefect where he could put his little notepad," Lily said, giving Erik an encouraging smile.

He gave her a level look, and she felt twice that evening a tingle of anticipation along her spine. He was furious with her, and hiding it remarkably well. Sometime before they got back to Artenay, she had a feeling he was going to explode.

"He'll be riding with us to Artenay tomorrow."

"We're leaving?" Susanna asked, looking slightly dismayed. "I miss...I miss Daniel and Elisabeth. But this is the first time I've been away. It was slightly terrifying, but a relief as well."

Erik gave her a gentle caress on the hand, thinking of telling her she wasn't alone anymore, then deciding against it. He told her with his eyes, and watched a knowing smile light inside hers. They would say goodbye tonight...or goodbye to the carefree and reckless passion they had succumbed to while in Orleans.

Lily rolled her eyes, although inside her stomach twisted with jealousy. Jealousy she felt guilty for feeling. Jealous of her brother, who deserved love, and Susanna who she'd hurt. But she still didn't feel like apologizing, even if she needed to. Anger still burned inside at the mention of _that man's_ name. At the thought of his brutal treatment...of the way he'd hurt her, and killed the life inside.


	92. Breaking Point

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna woke in the semi darkness, listening to Erik's breathing. The vague stream of dawn could be seen in the sky through the open window. He'd relented to leaving it open last night after...after it had gotten decidedly too _hot_ in the room. The draperies were pulled back, allowing fresh morning air to filter through and caress their bodies.

She lifted her head slightly, then lowered it quickly. His mask was slightly crooked, and the hairpiece was askew. He would hate it if she looked up...and he had asked her again last night not to. As much as it bothered her, she knew she would do as he wished. He'd been hurt too many times for her to deny him the request.

Rolling over cautiously, she faced the opposite wall on her stomach. Within moments she heard Erik stir, and sensed he was adjusting everything. She felt his eyes on her, and she continued to look blindly away, pretending to be asleep.

"Susanna?"

"Hmm?" she murmured, rubbing her cheek against the pillow.

With a sigh, she heard him get up and wander into the bath, then the sound of water being emptied from the tank into the tub. The thought of joining him was ridiculously impossible, but so appealing she nearly did. She lay there for several moments, imagining sliding against his wet skin, and kissing him as she submerged herself in water.

"You're either having wicked dreams, or impure thoughts."

Caught in her moment of devilry, she opened her eyes to see him looking at her. A towel thrown haphazardly around his hips, and a crooked smile on his face.

"A little of both," she admitted, stretching lazily. "Go on with your bath, you scoundrel. Before I have a mind to ravish you."

His smile widening, he sauntered back into the room and shut the door. She laughed aloud as the lock clicked, and stood to find her own clothes. Carrying them cautiously through the door to her room, she began to run her own bath. Susanna left a trail of clothing Erik was sure to follow, as well as two open doors he would be unable to resist. She stared with a wry expression at her bruise, a sickening green color added to the roster of her palette. Soon, the purple would fade, and she would be left with just green, and some yellow.

"Try hitting me again, see what happens," she muttered as she sank into the water. She washed her hair, hoping she had time to dry it before they left today. Riding to Artenay with the Prefect would either be interesting, or torture. But it had to be better than riding with Lily.

Laying back against the rim, she draped a rag across her face, hoping it would reduce swelling. It was hot, rather than cold, and only seemed to make the flesh sting.

True to his nature, she heard Erik, long before he arrived. The sound of his hand pushing her door open caused her to smile beneath the cloth. His joints popped as he sank beside her, and she couldn't help but peek beneath the rag to see what he was wearing.

"You weren't supposed to dress before you came in here," she complained.

"I'm only half dressed."

She smiled as she sat up, seeing his feet were bare, as well as his chest. "Oh, well, trousers aren't so hard to remove."

The green of his eyes brightened, and his mouth curved upwards. "Sit up," he directed her, plucking the cloth from her hands. She sighed as he smoothed soap across her back, lathering her skin and cupping warm water to rinse the residue away.

"Oh...this is nice," she whispered, loving the feel of his broad hands along her spine. She crossed her arms around her chest, peering at him modestly when he raised his brow at her. "When we get married..."

"Yes?" he prompted, his voice a low rumble that echoed inside the marble room.

"...and you build me a house..."

"A house?" he repeated, chuckling slightly. "Am I to live the rest of my life building houses?"

"...it will have a bath large enough to accommodate us both, won't it?"

His blood stirred at the notion, although he wasn't sure he could possibly get any more aroused. She leaned back against the bath, her arms falling into the water to prove him wrong. Despite the two pink crested orbs tempting him, he managed to give his answer, though he was no longer sure what he agreed to.

"This one is too small," she said, her lower lip pouting dramatically.

"It is," he managed, feeling dry mouthed and completely fascinated. "I'll build whatever you like. A castle? A manor?"

She laughed, a sweet sound that never failed to lift his spirits. He finally raised his eyes to hers, chagrined to see she knew exactly what she was doing.

"You have no shame, do you?" she asked, leaning forward and pressing her breasts together flirtatiously. "None at all...typical male reaction when a female is trying to talk to you."

"You're nude," Erik pointed out. "And...in a bath. And...nude."

"So if I had asked you to buy me Spain, you would have agreed to it?"

"I would have agreed to anything," he murmured, reaching into the water to caress her. His hand slid beneath her breast to her ribs, and he pulled her to her knees. There was nothing comparable to her wet skin touching his. Nothing that would feel as heavenly as her soaking breasts rubbing his chest, her dripping arms wrapping around his shoulders. Stomach to stomach, they kissed. Slowly and lazily, his hands slid down her body, touching her above the water, and beneath it.

Susanna's soft sigh prompted him to lift her and carry her back to bed. Her scalp was warm and damp as his fingers slid through her hair. Her breaths became his as he entered her. Protection never entered his mind as he gazed into her eyes. They had used them last night, but he wanted nothing between them. Nothing...nothing.

The feel of her, such heat, such passion. She enveloped him, her legs locking around his back as he thrust into her. She bucked and pitched, sweet sounds of surrender in her throat. Her blue eyes fixed on his, a growing wildness in them that only made him hungrier.

Erik dug his fingers into the mattress, as if to anchor them to the bed. Her body met his restlessly, seeking to find fulfillment at the place they joined. The place where no barrier existed. Where nothing was between them. It felt a million times better...a hundred million. Not just the physical sensation, but the primitive emotion that tore through him.

"You're mine," he whispered triumphantly, seeing the blazing heat of her response. She was his. No one else would ever touch her.

"Yes," she whispered back, feeling his teeth sink into her shoulder. It made her skin jump, as well as her stomach at the sensation. The primal gleam in his eyes...the possessive way he swept over her sent her blood boiling hotter. She returned the gesture; felt his breath strike her shoulder harshly in pleasure.

Playful investigation roused passion in them both, and they were both lost in the tide of rising desire. He said her name as he she gave herself over to the madness that was taking them both. He joined her, finding that glittering abandon so much sweeter when able to release to in her, and not to waste the potential he was made for.

God help any child that came of this, he thought ruefully, but would not have traded the moment for any single thing.

* * *

Susanna noted that Lily didn't complain when Colin ordered her to stay in a separate car with Jackson, and avoid the Prefect. He was worried that her tendency of calling Erik 'Phantom' would be repeated in his presence, and didn't want to cause further problems for him.

Erik sat across from his father, staring out the window at the passing countryside. In a few hours, he would be back in Artenay, and the intimacy with Susanna would come to an end until he married her. How long it would be, he had no idea, but for once he wished it was soon. He had every intention of dissuading her from wanting to look beneath the mask. No matter what it took...begging if necessary...he would do it.

"You've been in France how long, Monsieur Dessain?" the Prefect asked quietly.

Erik turned impassive eyes to the man, now dressed in his uniform. He was a bit of a chameleon, had blended in as a citizen yesterday, until he'd introduced himself. Now it was apparent who he was...the position, the power that he had. Fear had curled in his stomach, but he would not allow it to show. The only thing he feared was having to leave...no one could detain him, unless he was going to meet the devil himself.

"Over a month. I arrived in May."

"Coming from...?"

"Glarus. Switzerland," Erik said, giving the man a faintly bored look.

"What made you decide to return after all these years?" he asked, finding the man's hostility intriguing. He wasn't being as openly negative as most people, but he wasn't pleased with being questioned either.

"My mother's grave," Erik replied. "I had never seen it. It isn't a crime, is it?"

Erik enjoyed the way the man shifted slightly, and gave him a piercing look. It was hard for a gentleman to dismiss the dead so easily, especially in the presence of a respectable lady and another gentleman. His father and Susanna, of course.

"No. Not at all. Merely a question, Monsieur Dessain."

Erik said nothing, seeing the man glance again at Susanna's bruise. No one had bothered to explain to him what had happened, although he clearly thought Erik was the cause.

"Do you think we could take the children to your home, Erik?" Susanna asked, touching his arm for a moment. "I've only been outside of France a handful of times, and it was always going to England to see your family."

"You...?" he looked at his father, seeing Colin nod slightly.

"Henri, Julien, Susanna, and even Daniel, although he was too young to remember it. They spent some time with us. Have you ever been?"

Erik shook his head. "I don't care for ships. Too...crowded." His father looked disappointed, so Erik added, "Perhaps now that I'm older, it wouldn't be so bad."

"Your Grandmother will want to meet you," Colin said quietly. "I regret to say she's not very kind, but if you treat her likewise, you may become her favorite. Lily is her current one."

"I can see why," Susanna muttered, flashing Colin an apologetic smile.

Erik saw the Prefect thinking of more questions, and stood abruptly. "I believe I'll see how Lily is faring. Excuse me."

Knowing Susanna would not come, he left, knocking on the door of the next car and entering. Lily was staring out the window, Jackson looking at him sleepily from the other chair. He gestured with his chin to leave them, and Jackson moved around him to go to his father's car.

Lily sighed, not taking her eyes from the scenery.

"I suppose you're here to yell at me."

"Yelling is secondary to what I want to do," Erik said, but his voice was calm and quiet. "If you ever touch her again, the fear you have of your father finding out will be the last thing on your mind. I don't care what Susanna said to you-she was only trying to help-"

"It was not her business!" Lily hissed, finally turning around to glare at him. "None...none!"

"And so many things about my life are yours?" he returned, edgy and sullenly. "You've announced to how many people my lack of experience?...And then blatantly alluded to what Susanna and I were doing during our stay here. Definitely not your business. And my appearance, was certainly not your concern."

"I thought it would help," she said belligerently, "you should wear more-"

"Shut up, for God's sake! What I wear is the least frigging important thing in the world! Just tell me what the hell's wrong with you," he said harshly, bracing his hands on the luggage rack to tower over her. "I can't take your childish nonsense another moment! Grow up!"

The two succinct words she replied with he had never heard a female repeat. She glared at him with the malevolence of a wet cat, and began to swing her foot wildly across her knee.

"If you kick me, I'll throttle you," Erik warned, and moved to the chair across from her. He rubbed his face wearily, looking at her in frustration. "Are you shaking? Headaches? Night sweats?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Lily...I do know how you feel-"

"Sure," she spat, her mouth twisting into fury. "Like hell you do."

"Why do you blame Jackson for losing the baby?"

Her face went white, her eyes losing the anger and rage, to be replaced by sadness and grief. Saying nothing, she turned back to the countryside, wishing she could crawl beneath the train.

"He didn't directly cause anything, did he?" Erik asked, but it was more of a challenge than a question. She shook her head slightly, but her neck felt frozen...her entire body felt frozen.

The last thing she wanted was to have this conversation.

"What reason did the doctor give?" Erik prodded, seeing her mouth tighten, and eyes close. A tear slipped from beneath her lashes, and she wiped it away in angry impatience.

"Trauma," she whispered. "Direct physical blows to the stomach, resulted in fetal damage. Would you also like the technical term for what he described as my chances of conceiving again?"

"Lily."

"I'm in the lower percentile. I'm barren, most likely," she said, her tone defeated and lacking her normal spirit. "Do you know why? Duncan Pierce. He did this to me. No...Jackson did nothing. Other than not kill him, as I wished he would. I haven't decided who I hate more."

She struggled to slip behind the mantle of reserve that had protected her. Struggled...failed. Erik leaned forward and took her hand, watching in silent sympathy as tears fought for their right on the expanse of her cheek. She never gave in...never. If she cried, she would never stop.

"He beat you?" Erik asked softly, moving to her side of the car. "He destroyed his own child?"

"Please stop," she pleaded, raw pain bullying it's way past her resolve. "God, no. Please...don't make me do this. Stop, Erik."

Erik swallowed a ball of rage that swept through him, feeling it curl tightly in his stomach. It amazed him, this protectiveness he felt towards her. This soon after he had met them all, and the connection he felt with Lily continued to astound him.

"You don't have to hide from me. I won't judge you. I want to help you," he whispered, placing a cautious hand across her shoulders. She shook madly then, struggling to keep her hands clasped as violent tremors raced through her frame. "Tell me everything."


	93. Sweating Bullets

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"No one knows," Lily whispered, her eyes concentrating on her hands. Erik watched her lips tremble until she compressed them tightly, stifling all movement. "Not Papa, not Jackson. Not anyone."

"That he hit you?"

"I didn't want them to," she said, struggling to keep her voice level. It came out, sounding strangled and uncertain. "I never want them to."

"If they don't know, why did Jackson fight with him?" Erik asked quietly.

"Because he broke the engagement. I...I was, or should have been grateful to Jackson for that. But his actions, and what he was shouting at Duncan told everyone the reason why. But no one knows _why _I lost the...," she stopped, swallowed, and raised her eyes to his in misery. "No one, but Duncan, and myself."

He waited, uncertain what to say to her. The idea of a man hitting her...hard enough to destroy an unborn child had him clenching his hands in anger. His tolerance of women being abused was very low...especially after what his mother had endured. "Why did he do it, Lily?"

She lifted her shoulder slightly, but he saw the rigidity in the gesture. "Miss Cooper, I suppose. He wanted to marry her, even after we had been together. Duncan was spoiled. I thought at first...that he was like Jackson. He has a temper..., but not like Papa's. Not like anyone else's. The first time he hit me, I...I didn't know what to think. I used to provoke him, like I do Jackson." She smiled slightly, giving him a sheepish smile. "Like I do with you. And for a long time, I thought he liked that about me. Then he hit me...hard."

Erik sucked in a breath, determined to listen to her, and not to belittle her for taking abuse. She had to have known that Jackson and her father would have done something...anything to protect her. He had a notion his father likely would have killed the man. Perhaps that was the reason she kept her silence.

"Why, Lily? Why didn't you tell someone...fight back? You don't seem like the sort of female that takes that sort of abuse. Not like my mother...not at all."

"But I did," she whispered, her eyes widening. "I hit him back...I did more than that. I broke his nose. I kicked his ballocks so hard he turned green."

Erik winced inwardly, but nodded sympathetically. "And?"

"It wasn't like fighting with Jackson," Lily said softly, her voice becoming hollow. "He didn't stomp off to his room and ignore me for a few days. He didn't do something benign, yet annoying, like push me into the pond, or unravel my hair before I was leaving for a party. He knocked the hell out of me, a few nights later. After I had told him I was...," she stopped and drew a breath, "...my God, I can no longer say it, but you know of what I speak. He cornered me in one of those dusty family portrait halls those aristocrats are so proud of, held a hand across my mouth, and hit me repeatedly until I could barely stand."

She sobbed, remembering the feel of his fist in her stomach. It had felt at times like he connected with her spine. Like he was trying to reach inside, and pull her organs from her body. He hadn't...but the damage had been enough to cause bleeding the next day...then the cramping...the lose of the innocent life she had not yet had time to cherish.

"I didn't tell anyone, because I've never been weak. I was never a crying female...a shrinking violet. I didn't want to admit I had become one of those women who allowed a man to handle her...and I knew what Papa would do if he found out. Duncan knew as well...he said if I told anyone, he'd make my family pay. And he made me agree to marry him...tried a few days later to pass off the violence as a drunken episode. He thought breaking our engagement publicly was the perfect way to finalize my humiliation...it hurt, yes, but I was never so relieved in my life."

Erik's face was grave when she peered up at him, and she still struggled to remain in control of her emotions. Her hands shook slightly, whether from being upset, or wanting and needing the bliss of forgetting she was no longer sure. It wasn't merely difficult not to think about morphine...it was almost impossible. And given no vent to her frustration, it had exploded onto Susanna.

"I'm not ready to apologize," she muttered. "It would be a lie if I did so, and I abhor liars."

Erik shrugged slightly, "That's for you to judge. I told her everything, by the way." He looked at her defiantly when she started to say something. "You hit her...she deserved to know why. I think she may apologize to you actually-"

"Oh, fantastic! Thank you!"

Huffing, she turned her back to him, feeling angry all over again. He sighed behind her, "I want you to at least apologize to Jackson."

"No."

"Why? You just admitted he's done nothing to you," Erik insisted, poking her in the back until she turned to glare at him. "It isn't fair for you to be so cruel to him."

"He's used to it," she said dismissively. "He used to fight back...lately all he does is pout. If he wants an apology from me, he'll have to ask for it."

"You have to be the most selfish person I've ever met in my life," he growled, giving her a fierce look when she rolled her eyes. "Lily, you're going to be a bitter, lonely old woman. No one will listen to you after awhile...no one will even want to speak with you. Do you really want to become so cynical?"

"Cynicism is a wonderful and effective tool for living, Erik," she said, smiling slightly. "Don't become a bleeding heart like the rest of the world. It only takes a tug to rip it from your chest. You're better off if you stay guarded."

"Cruelty is another way," Erik replied. "And what you're doing to Jackson...it's cruelty of another sort. If you haven't noticed, he's drowning himself in guilt because he thinks what happened to you was his fault."

She couldn't control the momentary flash of remorse that hit her, nor hide the involuntary flinch that resulted from her heart jumping. Erik merely stared at her, seeing nothing but a spoiled child who would not allow her shell to be broken.

"What Madame Allard did to me is incomparable to what you're doing to him. You're his sister...you're supposed to love him, to protect him. At least I knew from the beginning that she hated me. Do you think Susanna would have ever treated her brother this way?" he asked, seeing her eyes flicker before she hid them by staring out the window. "Derrik was the only brother I ever had. I've found myself surrounded by more family than I ever imagined possible after living alone for most of my life. Trust me," he said quietly, rising from his seat to leave, "being alone is not what you want, Lily. And once you have successfully pushed everyone away, you're going to find that your own company is not as pleasant as you imagine it being. I know you're hurt. I'll do anything I can to help you...but I'm not going to spoil you like everyone else. Grow up. And if you ever lay a hand on my wife again, you'll regret it."

"She isn't your wife," she returned instantly, giving him a vindictive smile that's intentions were to disarm him.

"Not yet," he agreed, and turned his back on her, leaving her alone.

* * *

Erik's return to the car was met with surprise by the Prefect. Susanna noticed he had clearly not expected Erik to come back. To hide with Lily in a separate car. She also noticed Jackson didn't look interested in rejoining his sister, and one look at Erik's face told her no one else would want to either.

"How is she?" Colin asked, also looking baffled when Erik took his seat beside Susanna.

"Immature. Irritating."

"Not regretting it a bit, is she?" Jackson questioned, his eyes remaining closed as he leaned his head back against the car. "She won't apologize, either. Trust me."

"She will if I take a strop to her," Colin said stiffly.

"You've never taken a strop to either of us," Jackson returned, finally opening his eyes to look at his father. "But I dare say it would have been welcome at times."

"I don't require an apology," Susanna said softly. The growing tension in the room, being surrounded by four grown men was making her uncomfortable. Erik looked ready to chew nails, the Prefect had suddenly realized that apparently Erik had not contributed to her bruise. Jackson and Colin ignored one another, as always.

She sat there for most of the afternoon, waiting for someone to fall asleep. Someone to speak. A bandit to rob the train...any distraction would have been welcome. Almost ready to join Lily, she was grateful when the Prefect announced he would be leaving to wander around the train for a bit.

Silence still plagued the room when he left. Erik breathed a deep sigh, obviously one of relief as the door closed, but continued to stare out the window at the passing scenery. It was unbelievably hot inside the car, and the open glass had done little to stir the warm air.

"What do you suppose he's thinking?" Susanna asked quietly.

"Probably trying to decide if he should build a gallows in Artenay, or simply take me straight to Paris," he muttered.

She touched his arm, squeezing until he looked at her. "Don't say that," Susanna whispered, feeling a tremor of fear enter her heart.

"It'll be late when we get back," Colin said quietly. "You and the children can stay with us again tonight, Susanna. Erik can return you home tomorrow, and retrieve his horse from Rand Vallee."

She murmured something, and Erik wondered if he would need to throttle Rand as he had promised. Certainly it wouldn't help his case with the Prefect.

He settled his head against the cushion behind him, staring at the ceiling of the car for awhile. It would be hard to leave. A great, growing fear was in his heart that he would have to. Leave Artenay, and never return. His father would most likely allow him to go to England with him. Or he could return to his castle...try that house in Italy he hadn't seen in two decades. But he didn't want to. Being surrounded by his past...by the possibility of a future was too great a temptation to deny.

He wanted to complete the house, to perhaps build another and marry Susanna. Raise her children with her...what he wanted to do with his life, he wasn't sure. Perhaps he _would_ allow his father to help him sell some music. Maybe not an entire opera at first...perhaps an aria, or a custom composition for someone. There were thousands of lyricists in the world, like Jackson, who had no music to accompany their words.

Susanna settled her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes. It appeared she wanted to sleep, but he could feel her thumb stroking the underside of his wrist absently. She was thinking...she wanted to be close to him. The last few days with her had been amazing. Unbelievable. And there was more in the future with her. More...so much more.

All he had to do was make it through the investigation by keeping his hands clean. All he had to do was convince a Prefect with the gendarme police he was as harmless as a kitten.

No sweat. Right?


	94. Lasting Bliss

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Eli returned to the farm, looking exhausted and irritated. Rand followed him out the barn as he put away his horse, noticing his shoulders stiff with tension. One look at his face had him guessing where he had been.

"How are they?"

"Who?" Eli returned blandly.

"The rest of your demented family," Rand said evenly, watching Eli's mouth twitch slightly.

"Fine. Vida says Jackson Talbot has been sniffing around Angele. Angele has been sniffing back."

Rand sighed, thinking of his brainless young sister. "And Aunt Vida?"

"I don't think Jackson has a chance," Eli said, frowning slightly. "Aunt Vida wants you to go see Grandfather Rene."

"I'll consider it. Did you ride through town and see if the Talbot's have returned?" Rand asked, switching the topic quickly. He had no desire to discuss his father, no matter how much he missed him at times. In the five years since his father had sold him the farm, Rand had only gone to see him on holidays, and on his birthday. Since his health had failed in recent years, Rene had grown considerably feeble minded, and more and more incapacitated.

"They haven't. I asked around like you said, about Madame Allard. No one has seen her," Eli said quietly. "Is that woman, Marie, going to cause trouble, Uncle Rand?"

Rand sighed, thinking yes. Yes, she was causing trouble, though not the sort he would admit to. He had done his best to avoid her today. Avoid the house in particular, but she seemed to have a fascination with his flower beds, and Rachel had helped her clean several of them out and then planted wildflowers in the place of struggling weeds. The entire yard seemed more beautiful with the addition of the wild geraniums and moonflowers.

"No. No trouble, Eli. She's just staying with us until Monsieur Dessain comes back. Then we'll send her home with him."

And she can stay out of my hair...out of my dreams. My every waking thoughts.

"We finished painting for Monsieur Dessain yesterday. He's supposed to be ordering material for the floor, then Lucien says we'll be nearly complete. Who do you think will get the house?" Eli mused, stroking the muzzle his chestnut gelding.

Rand shrugged, not really wanting to think about Erik. Not wanting to think about anything. He glanced back at the house, seeking the truth even as he lied to himself. There she was...standing on the porch, hanging some sort of herb bundle from the veranda. The evening sun caught her in a smile, the wind blowing gently strands of black hair around her face. She laughed at something Rachel said, straining on her toes to reach a nail for her herbs.

Rand averted his eyes for a moment as her body stretched from its confinement in the dress. Back arched, breasts forward, she looked like a dancer about to leap across a stage. Graceful, beautiful. He swallowed and turned away, ignoring the curious look Eli gave him. He had to stop thinking about her like that. It wasn't possible...she hated him. He could practically feel the hostility emanating from her when they were in the room together. Alone or not, she eyed him with suspicion and mistrust.

With any luck, Erik would take one look at her and elope. Then he would be free to console Susanna, although he was no longer sure if he could feel that way about her. After seeing this woman...this beautiful and wild woman, alive and free spirited. His heart galloped every time he even thought about kissing her, wondering what passion she had, what she would be willing to share.

* * *

Colin was kind enough to direct the Prefect to the Inn, but did not offer to share his carriage back to his residence. The village was dark and quiet as they rolled through town and pulled up to the front doors. Lights blazed inside, and Lily marched straight ahead of them all, not stopping to greet anyone. Susanna could hear the sound of laughter inside, and smiled at Erik as they followed it beyond the stairs, towards the back of the house. The sight stopped her, making laughter bubble inside her as well. Her son, covered head to toe in flour, next to Emma, also covered in flour were in the midst of what appeared to be making cookies. Elisabeth sat in a chair of the way, watching a maid hopefully as she arranged cookies on a tin sheet.

"It looks as if you've all had fun," she murmured, and laughed when Daniel's eyes shot to hers. Elisabeth began squealing immediately, and Daniel reached her first, wrapping his arms around her waist and covering her in his flour dust and stickiness. She knelt, kissed a sugar caked cheek, then reached for Elisabeth who had finally abandoned the chair to toddle towards her.

She hugged her two children, laughing as Daniel rushed to tell her a hundred stories at once, from toys to cookies, to painting.

Emma looked slightly mortified, embarrassed that she hadn't given them a bath yet, and put them to bed.

"It's fine," Susanna said reassuringly. "I think we can indulge them this once."

She winked at Daniel, then smiled up at Erik who was looking at a plate of cookies with carefully concealed interest. Emma pushed them towards him unobtrusively before sailing around the table to hug Colin and Jackson.

"Where's Lily?" she asked, and Colin pointed towards the ceiling, gritting his teeth.

"Mama, what happened to your eye?" Daniel demanded, nearly poking her there as his fingers explored her cheek.

"I ran into a door," she whispered, kissing his forehead and missing to hit his nose. "See...Mama's always clumsy, isn't she?"

Colin said nothing, but tugged his wife from the room with a grim look on his face. Jackson sat at the table, smiling gratefully as the maid offered him milk, and the entire plate of cookies. He smirked at Erik as she moved them from one brother to the other, rolling his eyes dramatically as he ate the first one.

"You're both immature," Erik muttered, but couldn't hide a small grin.

"Did you bring me something?" Daniel demanded, looking at them both.

"I did," Susanna said primly. "But you need a bath first...and I think it would be best if you waited until tomorrow to receive your gifts."

"Gifts?" Daniel repeated, "More than one?"

Susanna shrugged innocently, looking at Erik with mischief in her eyes. He smiled wider, tapped Daniel on the shoulder and produced a small device from his pocket.

"What's this?"

"A kaleidoscope," Erik said, showing him how to use it. "Look inside, while it points at the light."

He demonstrated, then allowed Daniel to look while Susanna stared at them both in amusement. Daniel pulled his eye away from the instrument, blinking in astonishment.

"Mama, look!" he exclaimed, holding it out to her.

She obeyed, looking into the brilliant prism of color. The explosion of beauty, shifting, constantly changing.

"Very nice," she said, nodding her head in a wise and approving manner. "Now, find whoever it is who has been bathing you, so I can remember out what my little boy looks like when he's not so dirty."

The maid took Elisabeth and Daniel, disappearing with a discreet smile as she led them from the room. Erik smiled sheepishly as he tucked the kaleidoscope back into his pocket.

"You shouldn't indulge him," she warned, though it was halfhearted. "Children will take advantage of an adult who gives them what they want."

"Like Lily?" Jackson asked sarcastically.

"You said it, not me," she said, shrugging her shoulder. She stepped out of Jackson's line of vision into the hallway and crooked her finger at Erik. He shot his brother a half smile before he followed, disappointed to learn she only wanted her to kiss him good night.

She stopped outside her bedroom door, kissing him in longing and regret. His hands slid around her waist, running up her back, then down again to her hips. He pulled her against him, using his shoulders to brace himself against the wall. He breathed in her skin, memorizing the subtle fragrance, the sweet nuances of her flesh. Her hair was like satin in his fingers, like golden silk in his grasp. A silken spiral, spun of pure gold.

"Would you like to return to Orleans?" he whispered against her neck. "I think there's a train leaving in the morning."

"Mmm, I think we can recapture Orleans here," she sighed. "Just not as often...and not tonight."

She buried her nose against his chest, feeling his heat, exploring his muscles through the fabric of his shirt. He was warm, male. Very male...so hard, yet soft. She wanted to do so much more...so much more, and so little time.

"I know...but it doesn't hurt to try."

Hearing giggling, he stepped away from her as the maid brought the children upstairs, clean and shining this time.

"I'm sorry, Madame. Daniel wanted to ask if he could sleep with you tonight," the maid said, shifting Elisabeth to her mother's arms.

"Of course. Just tonight...tomorrow you'll be back in your own room," Susanna said to Daniel, very firmly. At least it would ensure that she didn't invite Erik to her bed beneath his father's roof, despite what Colin probably thought they would be doing anyway.

Daniel nodded eagerly, tugging on Erik's coat until he leaned down for a hug, then slipping through the door to bounce on the bed. The maid left them standing awkwardly outside her doors, and Erik looked down to find Elisabeth watching him with wide blue eyes.

"Goodnight," he whispered, pressing a kiss to forehead, then to Susanna's. His throat tightened viciously as she stepped through the door with a shy smile.

"Goodnight," Susanna returned, wishing he could come with them. Seeing how much he wanted to. It made her heart sing, knowing where he wanted to be. Knowing he wanted to stay. To be a family. She left the door slightly open as she changed and climbed into bed, unable to shut him out completely. Daniel curled up beside her, whispering in the dark stories about his time with Emma, and how much he loved it. Elisabeth clung to her, seemingly afraid to let her go again. They both drifted off, and Susanna stayed awake for a long time, listening to her children breathing in the darkness.

In the hours before dawn, she opened her eyes to find Erik sleeping in the chair next to them, his face hidden in the darkness, his breathing even and deep. She curled her arm around Elisabeth and pressed a soft kiss to her daughter's temple, feeling a sting of love...a completeness that she had not felt in a long time.

They were to be a family. In every way...and she hoped suddenly their nights in Orleans had resulted in something more than pleasure.

In something more than a few moments of lasting bliss.


	95. Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

The sound of screaming woke them all. Three heads peered out into the hallway, each looking at one another in bleary eyed exhaustion.

"Rachel?" Eli asked, his voice roughened from sleep.

Rand nodded his head, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Go back to sleep. I'll take care of her."

The screams had stopped, but by the time Rand reached her door, he could hear soft crying inside. "Monsieur wait." He turned his head at Mirela's voice, seeing her glide across the hallway. A vision swathed in white lace, he had no idea where she had gotten the material. It fluttered around her body, her black braid draped across one breast, hiding the soft curve from his eyes. Cleverly, he managed to look at her face instead of down, seeing a concerned expression.

"What is it?"

"Wake her up," she whispered, her dark eyes flickering to his face for a moment, then to the door. "Wake her, and talk to her."

"Madame...please return to your room," he said softly, indicating the room behind her. "She'll be back asleep in five minutes."

"And tomorrow night?" she asked sharply. "The night after? How many more must she endure, before you take the weight from her shoulders? If you do not relieve her from these dreams, you are a selfish, and cowardly man."

Tempers flared in the hall, and more than half afraid because she was right, Rand opened Rachel's door. He _was_ afraid. He _was_ selfish...he didn't want to know what caused these dreams. Ignorance was bliss...he would really rather not know. Convincing himself a thousand times in the last nine years had drummed a regime of being able to think of other things as he held her. To keep the knowledge at bay, by letting her pretend she was asleep.

Still...he did not want to know, however much she needed him.

Rachel lay in a tight coil, her fists pressed against her ears, her knees tucked against her chest and legs locked together. At his touch, she shrank back from him until he began speaking softly to her. Gradually she unfurled and allowed him to hold her, and he felt the silent tears gather against his neck as her small hands shook between their bodies. Her desperate sob ripped his sanity away, and he squeezed her tighter.

"Rachel, sleep. Please...please sleep," he begged her. He closed his eyes and rocked her gently, opening them when the bed depressed behind Rachel. Mirela was staring at him, a look of command on her face. When he glared at her, shaking his head slightly, she touched his arm for a moment, her lips pursing into a frown.

_"Chavi,"_ Mirela whispered, and Rand felt Rachel stiffen in his arms. "Your Uncle and I want to talk to you about your dreams."

Rand held her tighter, unable to stop...not wanting to contradict her. He didn't want Rachel to think he didn't care. Didn't want her to know the dreams frightened him as much as they did her. Some days he would have loved to have dropped the blade on Jonathan's head himself. Most days, he would rather have beaten him to death.

"We know what happened to you, _chavi_. We both know what sort of things happen to girls, Rachel," Mirela said softly. "You don't have to tell us anything specifically...we both know. None of it was your fault."

Rachel began to shake, uneven sobs emitting from her mouth she could no longer control. She had barely said anything to her, and it unwound the pain inside her suddenly, and she released it against Rand's chest.

Mirela watched her struggle, watched Rand's face as he held her. His eyes closed, not hiding the infinite sadness. The anger. His own pain. She thought she saw him sob as well, his breath catch sharply and then an exhale that never seemed to quite emerge.

"Your uncle keeps you safe," she continued, her own throat tight with pain. The girl had been so happy today...so carefree. To see her like this was almost too much to bear. To leave her like this in a few days would be a sin. "He won't let any man hurt you, Rachel. You need to tell him about the boy who pinches you. Tell him any time a boy tries to hurt you. Scream, Rachel. Cry. It's alright to scream and cry. To be angry...but you don't ever have to be afraid anymore."

"Uncle Rand," Rachel cried, clutching handfuls of his dressing gown in her fists. "I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry. Sorry. Sorry..."

"Shhh," he whispered, trying unsuccessfully to tilt her face back. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing, Rachel. Not ever..."

She continued to cry, the silence broken now and she no could no longer hide her pain. Rand was helpless, staring across at the woman who had so easily torn through the barrier. Their eyes met; held. The longest time passed before either of them moved.

Mirela felt her breath catch as he reached out and touched her arm. In the darkness, the careful gesture made her heart swell. He touched her reverently, gently. In thankfulness, and in sincere gratitude for breaking through to Rachel, allowing her to release her pain without him having to confront the truth of her past.

"Rachel, look at me," Rand whispered urgently, needing her to see that she truly had nothing to feel ashamed of, or sorry for. She raised her head slowly, her eyes falling somewhere between his nose and mouth. He touched her cheek a moment, feeling his heart break when she nearly flinched. "You and Eli are my children in every way that matters. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. I would never hurt you. Rachel, I will never hurt you the way you've been hurt before."

Her eyes filled with more tears, and she tried to lower her head again. He caught her, making her look him in the eyes. The pain he saw there, the mistrust, even after all he had done robbed him of breath.

"You know how much I love you, don't you?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head, mute with fear and hope. Embarrassment caught so tightly with the need to hear the words, she stopped breathing and merely trembled, waiting for him to say something.

"I love you with all my heart, Rachel," Rand said forcefully, a serrated breath mingling with his earnest words. From the moment Jonathan had abandoned them, Eli and Rachel had been his. Every day he had taken care of them, each night that Rachel had these dreams he held her. Loved them. Fed them. Prayed for them to find happiness, and a sense of normalcy in their semi crazy family. But he had never tried to break through to this part of her. Never...too afraid...too ignorant to know what she needed, or how to say it. Words rushed through him, a tremendous amount of things he wanted and needed to say. At the moment, he could manage nothing.

Rachel bit her lip, still afraid to speak. To let anything out...never the truth...but to open her heart, even to her uncle was frightening. She lowered her eyes again, not wanting him to see the skeleton of her pain and misery. "You don't want me to leave?" she whispered, stealing a quick glance and seeing his frozen disbelief.

"No. I don't want you to leave. Why...why would you think that?"

"Because of this. And...Eli's leaving...," she said, her voice raspy. "And my f-father. Uncle Ray...," she began to cry again, burying her face in her hands and beginning to ramble incoherently.

Rand held her, catching words that sent his blood boiling, and his arms around her back protectively. "They're both dead," he managed gruffly after she quieted down. "They can't hurt you anymore, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. Don't ever let anyone tell you differently, Rachel."

Mirela listened as he continued talking to her, giving her words she desperately needed. Love, comfort. Telling her she was beautiful. Each thing nearly sent the girl back into tears, but slowly she settled down in his arms. It was like a revelation watching his expressions. Like seeing someone for the first time. Like looking into someone's soul. She was certain she had never seen such emotion in a man. She was certain she had never met someone so honorable. So respectable.

There was something there. Something in his eyes when he looked at her. Desire, yes, but something else that sent a shiver through her. He didn't look through her like most men. Didn't look at her with lust, and nothing else. It was almost as if he saw _her. _Not the docile appearance she exhibited in public, and most of the time in private. No one knew her...no one had ever known her. Not even Erik, because the girl that had left the Gypsies had long since died. She had reinvented herself time and again, until she lost herself completely.

"She's asleep." Rand said quietly, and Mirela stood so he could lay her down. Rachel's face was still covered in tears, and he patiently wiped them away before he covered her. Discreetly swiping at his own cheek, he stepped around her into the hall, intending to go straight to his room and spend the night in exhausted misery.

Some force compelled her...she followed him, slipping into his room and watching as he rubbed his face wearily. He sank onto the edge of his bed, face lowering into his hands for a moment then glancing up. His eyes froze as they connected with hers, and she stood near the door uncertainly.

"Thank you," he said cautiously, wondering why she had come into his room. Likely she wanted to talk, to gloat about how right she had been. About how very wrong he had been, to have allowed Rachel to keep hurting all this time. "I don't quite know how to repay you for that."

"I have a request."

He stood as she moved further into the room, feeling his blood stir as she stopped mere inches from him. Looking down into her eyes, he felt as if he were drowning. Sinking into the inky blackness, into a mysterious aura within her soul that tempted and seduced, while managing to seem innocent and sweet. She looked nervous, her hands wringing in front of her, mouth parted softly. The black hair against white lace was such a elegant contrast, he could not stop himself from reaching out to lift the thick rope braid from her neck.

Unable to resist, he slid his hand down her hair gently, letting it fall back down the front of her body. The lower end nearly reached her naval, and surprise flickered in her eyes that he did nothing more.

"A request?"

She nodded, slightly afraid, and more than a little excited. Her blood sung as the words caught and held in her throat, and she swallowed hard to force the knot of anxiety back to the pit of her stomach, along with her sanity. She had to be mad to risk this. To ask this. But madness was secondary to what she wanted...and what she wanted:

"A kiss, Monsieur Vallee. I request a kiss," she whispered huskily.

- -

Rand stared at her for several moments before he nodded. A stupid thing to do, he thought, to merely nod like an idiot. She was asking him to kiss her, and all he could manage was a small movement of his head. Stupid, because he longed to do more than kiss her. Longed to do so much more.

She moved towards him, her feet making no sound on the floor as she closed the distance. Her arms went around his neck and he felt her touch his hair. Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her sweetly at first, then groaned as hunger took possession of him. His hands spread around her back, his tongue teasing her lips. Nervousness was lost as he kissed her, his fears forgotten as she melted against him. He broke apart for a moment, seeing surprise once again on her face. He raised a hand to touch her cheek, then her brow. His hand traced the edge of her face before he lowered his head again.

Panic and pleasure warred inside her heart. She had never felt this before...never experienced this sort of sweet torture. Sweet torment that was almost too much to bear. He tasted different, or perhaps it was the way he restrained himself, not trying to hurt her as other men had. Not greedy, not too utterly demanding. He gave, he took, but did it exquisitely.

Mirela lifted her hands to his hair, sliding her fingers through the locks, pulling him closer as if to hold him to her. His mouth twisted against hers, his hands sliding around her back. She could feel his arousal against her stomach, but he did nothing to encourage himself.

He merely kissed her, taking as long as she would allow, and as much as she wanted. Afraid to try anything, to risk frightening or angering her, he held her close and kissed her. Their breaths caught, passions exploding as their eyes met in the darkness. Her eyes slid closed, and she dropped her head backwards. Encouraged he pressed his mouth against her throat, his tongue tasting her skin, and never wanting to stop. She shivered as he kissed her ear, as warm air caressed the delicate shell and sailed into the tender canal. Sparks lit inside as his hand caressed her rib beneath her breast. A ragged moan was suppressed when he deliberately moved his hand up, but then back down again without touching her there. Feeling as if she were someone else...someone new, alive, she sighed.

She grasped his hand and moved it where he had been too afraid, and Rand felt her tremor as he brushed through the stiff lace. He felt her harden beneath his hand, felt her stop breathing as he lowered his head and kissed her through the fabric. A simple kiss turned into something more as they ignited, hesitant in their explorations. Rand moved slowly, or as slowly as she wanted, uncertain what he had done to deserve such a reward.

Mirela felt swept away by the unprecedented feelings that haunted her. By desire, by the need to have his hands on her, and not feel ashamed. Not feel resentful. To feel alive and beautiful in his arms, and to allow him to pleasure her instead of him requiring all the attention.

Fumbling slightly, and hesitant, she untied the lace sash that held her gown closed. His eyes widened, and he stared down at her with his mouth hanging open.

Drinking in the sight of her, perfect, beautiful. He wasn't certain he could breathe, especially when she unbuttoned his dressing gown and slid it from his shoulders. Stepping out of hers, she stepped closer to him, allowing their bodies to touch. Electricity skittered through him, and his arms went around her, pulling her solidly against him.

"Mirela...I...," Rand stopped, looking at her with confusion and nervous disbelief. "Why? Why have you changed your mind?" he whispered.

"Because it is my choice," she replied, unable to hide the tremor of uncertainty in her voice. "Because I've never had one before. Not once...not ever."

The enormity of her statement sent doubt plaguing through him. This was someone who had been hurt just as much as Rachel. Just as much...perhaps for longer. She had performed actions tonight that said she was willing, but he could sense the hesitancy in her. See that she was frightened of releasing that control, even if it was her choice. Or especially if it was her choice.

Knowing he would regret it later, he stepped away from her and retrieved her gown from the floor. She looked at him questioningly as he draped it around her shoulders, covering her body from his hungry gaze. Almost in relief, she shoved her arms back through the holes and tied it around her body, her movements suddenly jerky as she realized he had no intentions of taking her to bed.

She hung her head, feeling a burn bordering on shame and anger. Rand touched her chin, and she lifted hurt eyes to his, finding not scorn, but the same sweet gentleness that had been there before.

"Lay beside me," he whispered, "I won't touch you. I won't do anything but hold you. That's all I want. Allow me to hold you."

Her mouth opened slightly, and she glanced towards the bed. Feeling anticipation snake through her, she climbed onto the bed, watching silently as he adjusted the waist band of his pajama trousers, unable to hide his erection. He left the dressing gown on the floor and sank down beside her, his eyes searching hers as she settled onto her side. He lay behind her and wrapped his arm around her stomach, pulling her against his thighs.

Moving her hair aside, he couldn't resist pressing one kiss to the back of her neck. She shivered in his arms, and he pulled the fabric down to do it again. That was when he saw it.

Black ink emblazoned across her skin, a six inch word that forced a four letter expletive from his mouth, making her flinch.

Tattooed across the nape of her neck, just below her collar was the word _slave._


	96. Hope for True Feeling

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

The moonlight illuminated her body, and Rand could not tear his eyes away from the tattoo. She lay stiffly in front of him now, and didn't appear to be breathing at all. It was an insult. Intended to degrade her, to label her permanently. To keep her imprisoned, even while she was free.

"Who did this to you?" he asked softly, his thumb tracing over the word as if to rub it away. Her skin was just as soft there, just as sweet, and he pressed a kiss alongside it. She trembled slightly, and the arm that he had slipped around her waist gripped her tighter. "Mirela...or do you really prefer to be called Marie?"

"I don't know," she whispered, blinking away tears of bitterness. She wanted to ask him if the word made him feel empowered, made him want to dominate her. If it caused lust to stir in his loins. He pressed another kiss there, and she closed her eyes, wishing she felt nothing as his lips and tongue swept over her skin. She didn't want to desire him anymore. Didn't want to experience this wild feeling, this need to be uninhibited with him.

She didn't want to become a used woman again. Didn't want to give him that power...now he undoubtedly knew the extent of her experience, and she felt shame through her core. Gypsy men valued purity. Valued chasteness, and virtue was of extreme importance. Her entire culture had been stripped away from her, leaving only what a European man would lust after. Exotic, erotic. A dark haired, toffee skinned woman who could just as easily play an American Indian savage as an Amazonian jungle warrior. Versatility had become something valued inside Madame Allard's house of perversion, instead of honor and respect.

"Tell me about your life."

He asked gently, waiting patiently as she struggled to think of something to say. Telling the truth would sound so preposterous...and be humiliating. She turned slowly in his arms, wanting to see his expressive eyes. To see what he thought of her. He looked concerned, looked troubled, and a little angry. His hand slid beneath her neck, and he rubbed at the tattoo more though he could no longer see it. At times she could forget it existed...and tonight she had for a moment. Until he had found it, and realized the implications of what the word meant.

"I was a gentleman's entertainer," she said bluntly. "For Madame Allard, for a period of about five years. She sold me to a man a named Mathias, and when he died a few years ago he left me a wealthy, independent woman."

Rand's jaw tightened visibly, and she hoped it was not disgust she saw in his eyes. Hoped it was not anger towards her. She had done nothing to deceive him, to make him think she was anything other than what she was. A Gypsy. A slave. A mere whore, nothing more.

"Why did they put this on you?" Rand whispered tightly, gripping her neck suddenly. His fingers dug into her neck, and he released her as she winced. He apologized wordlessly by pressing a gentle kiss on her cheek, then slipped his arms around her and pulled her close. He felt her hesitation before she embraced him, and exhaled raggedly as her hands pressed against his back. Mirela's cheek felt soft against his own rough one, and he struggled not to do more than hold her.

"Madame Allard...one of the men had a...request..."

"My God," he muttered. "I'm sorry. I'm terribly sorry."

"If I didn't do as she asked...entertain the wealthier patrons...she would send me downstairs," Mirela whispered, shuddering involuntarily as she recalled the disgusting men in the gaming hell. "It was much better if I obeyed. Mathias...he was a possessive man. At least with him, I always knew what to expect."

"Was he cruel?" Rand asked quietly, leaning back to gaze into her eyes.

She shook her head, but he could tell she had been no happier with him. "He didn't hit me...didn't force me. He was cruel in other ways...depriving me of things...but not necessities. Not food, or clothing...anything like that. He wouldn't allow me to read, wouldn't allow me outside. Kept me away from people for so long. He was the only person I ever talked to for years. A very selfish man. Very jealous."

"But he left you his wealth?"

"Yes...not without strings, but I never have to depend on a man at least. If I ever marry, I forfeit the rights to his estate. Actually...if anyone finds out I'm missing...that I'm here, I could lose everything," she whispered, wondering why the idea didn't frighten her as much as it should have.

"Do you want me to take you back to Paris?" he asked, hoping she would say no, and breathing a sigh of relief when she did.

"I can't leave...not until I've seen Erik," she said softly, frowning slightly. "You haven't heard anything, have you?"

"Eli said they haven't come back, but if it will make you feel better we can ride into the village tomorrow."

"No. Madame Allard may see me," she said slowly, wishing she could have the element of surprise and put an end to that woman's life.

Rand searched her eyes, seeing doubt and mistrust filling them again. She seemed self conscious now that silence had filled the room, and there was nowhere to look but at each other. Shyness flitted across her face as his legs shifted and touched hers, and she began to pull away from him.

"I would still marry you," he blurted out, then felt his heart hammer painfully in his chest. Mirela's eyes widened, and her mouth parted softly as she stared at him. "I mean...you've already said no, of course, and I would offer again but I don't want to anger you. It seems to be a remarkable trait of mine...to anger you, that is. But I wanted you to know...this doesn't matter..."

His hand caressed the back of her neck, rubbing at the tattoo again. She began blinking rapidly, and he suspected his words had upset her. Unable to stop the urge, he pulled her against him and held her tightly, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face against hers. They didn't have to speak, didn't have to look at one another. It was easier to hold one another, and not make promises, not divulge more secrets. The past and future didn't matter as they embraced. The sexual urge was easier suppressed when they relaxed in one another's arms and only thought about their past kisses, and only dreamed about the possibility of future ones.

Mirela abandoned modesty, abandoned her fears and nestled closer to him. His leg only seemed natural between her knees, her calf only familiar hooked around the back of his. His strength and warmth made her feel safe...protected, for the first time in her life she found comfort in a man's arms. Whether she trusted him or not, she was unsure.

She only knew that there was no other place in the world she would rather be, and she wouldn't have traded her wealth for the feeling of his arms around her.

* * *

They woke in the same manner, their legs intertwined, their arms draped artlessly across one another. The darkness in the room indicated they had only slept a few hours, and Rand suspected it was his normal waking hour despite the late night he had endured. He told his body to leave the bed, to stop before he began to torment himself with her lips, with her taste and smell.

His heart had other ideas, and Mirela's sigh told him she was willing to explore the soft, sweet seduction they both felt. Her lips were warm beneath his, her skin slightly damp from the heat of the night. She dug her nails into his back hesitantly when his head dipped to her throat, kissing the throbbing flesh where below her pulse beat.

"Mirela," he groaned her name, lifting his hands to cradle her head. He half rose above her, looking into her intense, passion blazed eyes. His erection pressed against her leg, hard and waiting, wanting nothing but her touch. He wanted her. He had never wanted a woman more, and suspected he never would again.

"Monsieur-"

"No. No, that isn't my name. Say my name, Mirela. Say it, for me."

"Rand. Randolf," she said raggedly, feeling heart and soul catch fire with the sweet nerves of enchantment. It frightened her, the sudden heat, the sweeping flames. The spiraling feeling that she had fallen for this man. He kissed her again, more urgently, more desperately. His hands untied the lace sash, and she nearly exploded from the bed as he cupped her bare breasts.

Rand lowered his mouth, kissing her, praising her. She felt lightning bolts inside her body, along with the swirling fire and roiling tide. His teeth gently captured her nipple, and she began shaking tremendously when he settled between her legs and rocked against her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, raising his head to look at her. She was excited, yes, but was clearly terrified. He felt her hands shaking against his back, and stamped down the urge to pull her closer, when what she needed was space. "I'm sorry...I've stopped...Mirela, look at me. Please."

He pulled the garment back around her body, separating their hips and trying not to feel disappointed. She opened her eyes slowly, looking at him in fear, hoping he wasn't angry.

He wasn't. He smiled at her cautiously and moved back to her side. He pressed a shaky kiss to her temple as she curled against his chest trying not to cry.

"I would pleasure you a thousand times over, before I ever tried anything else," he said, feeling his throat tighten when she sobbed. "You never have to please me. I would rather make you achieve ecstasy a million nights, than force you to witness mine for even one."

Mirela burrowed her head against his neck, knowing tears slid from her cheek to his skin, and unable to stop them. He held her silently as she cried in pain, in sorrow for the joy she could not abandon herself to. He held her, stroking her back gently, pretending he did not feel their skin touching where the robe parted, pretending that all he wanted was to hold her, to comfort her, and nothing more.

"Thank you," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck as she allowed herself to be weak for a few moments. To need someone, to let him hold her as she dissolved into a million unshed tears.

Dawn broke, halting words they wanted to say. Preventing any more indulgence in stolen kisses, and denying them a few more memories that could have been made.

* * *

Mirela left him reluctantly before Eli and Rachel stirred, sitting in her room as the gray morning light threw the shadows away. Morning would perhaps bring many regrets, but she closed her eyes awhile, sitting on the edge of her bed, and relived every kiss, every caress. Every beautiful word that had fallen from his mouth, and knew she had fallen deeper and harder than she ever thought possible.

She eventually went downstairs and began preparing breakfast, watching Rand as he left out the front door to tend to the animals. His hair shone in the morning light, his broad shoulders and long legs carrying him to and from the barn, setting out meals for the livestock, preparing Eli's horse for him as he had done every morning.

"Madame?"

Mirela turned as Rachel entered the kitchen, looking shy and hesitant in the face of her confessions last night. Instinctively, she reached out and put her arms around her, feeling the girl stiffen immediately.

"Call me Mirela," she whispered, smoothing the girl's hair from her eyes. "You were very brave last night, _chavi._ You are lucky to have your Uncle Rand. He loves you very much."

Tears sprang to her eyes, and to her mortification Rachel blinked back her own. "Thank you, Mirela," Rachel said softly, and managed to give her a swift hug before she became frightfully embarrassed.

Rachel watched her as she prepared breakfast, occasionally helping and learning new ways to prepare things that she had never considered. They settled into an easy rhythm, and Mirela listened to the sounds of the farm as it came to life, wishing suddenly that Rand would ask her again to marry him, although she still wasn't sure what she would say. The farm was peaceful, always quiet. She felt safe here, and the small touches of herbs she had placed around the kitchen and on the veranda were comforting. The flower beds Rachel had helped her make were beautiful, and the way that she felt wanted and needed by the three of them was refreshing and sweet.

Still, she was frightened of releasing her independence...becoming trapped, with no way out of a situation...no way of knowing whether it would be permanent or not. Her life had been filled with uncertainty and cruelty; she was no longer sure if she could accept anything other than the safety of her own life, made her own way.

She was certain she was too jaded to believe in love anymore.

And yet...if what she had felt last night was an indication of true feelings...then perhaps there was some hope for her after all.


	97. A Hysterical Phantom

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

The carriage left the main road, and traveled towards the Vallee's farm. The sun streaming through the window was so hot, he could feel himself beginning to sweat, and it wasn't quite noon. Erik had not been to the Vallee's since he had been a child...and seemed to recall the last visit involving an upset Rene Vallee and a reluctant wet cow.

"I wonder what Rene will think of me," he mused.

"Rene will not be home. He lives in town now," Susanna said softly, stroking Daniel's hair as he rested against her side.

"Rene no longer lives there?" he asked Susanna in surprise.

"His sister and youngest daughter have been taking care of him. He's been ill for a few years now," she replied. "Rand took over the farm, and has managed it far more effectively than his father ever did."

Erik frowned, but merely held Elisabeth closer to him. It had been an interesting morning at the Talbot's, with Emma finally ending up shouting at Lily for her misbehavior, and Colin joining in occasionally for good measure now that he had his wife's support. Erik had finally managed to get a carriage prepared to retrieve Cesar, then to take Susanna and the children home before he witnessed physical violence first hand from Lily. She was steamed, but had no right to be, and would not admit to anything to save her soul.

"Do you think the Prefect will be following us around?" Susanna asked worriedly.

Erik shrugged. "I've done nothing wrong in Artenay. As long as Lily keeps her mouth shut, I'll be fine. Besides. They haven't made a cell yet that can detain me. For long."

He reached for her hand and squeezed gently, then caught Daniel watching them. Judging by the look on the boy's face, he was not surprised, but he blushed and hid his face behind his mother's arm. They had not announced their engagement yet, and wanted to tell Daniel first. Then Henri. Erik glanced at Susanna a moment, then asked Daniel to sit beside him. Saying nothing, he placed his arm around the boy's shoulders and let him settle against his side. The ride to the farm was not entirely long enough for Erik to swallow the sudden emotion that had risen in his throat as the boy slid his arm across his stomach, burying his face against Erik's side.

- -

When he handed Elisabeth down to a waiting Susanna, he spied Rand coming out of the barn with a look of distinct unwelcome on his face.

"You're back early," Rand said, struggling to hide the dismay in his voice. He would have given anything for another day, or a lifetime with Mirela before Erik returned. His hope that Erik would return and take her off his hands was now becoming his greatest fear.

"Am I?" Erik asked, looking at him with disdain. "I hope there is nothing wrong with my horse. I'd hate to have to take all of yours...and it's such a pretty day."

"Your horse is fine," Rand replied irritably. "How was the...trip?" he asked, glancing at Susanna's blushing face. He had not mentioned anything specifically, and had really been asking if they had reported Raymonde's body.

"Fine," Erik replied, concealing amusement with a look of irritation. "Where is my horse?"

"He's...occupied," Rand said vaguely, then gestured with his hand towards a field, remembering too late Erik's warning as the man zeroed in on Mirela riding Cesar.

"I trust," Erik said slowly, "you are about to explain _that_, Monsieur Vallee. As I remember specifically...," he trailed off as the woman nudged Cesar into a canter, directly towards him. He caught a fleeting glimpse of black hair, and the shape of a face that sent a chill directly through his heart.

"She...she's the girl from the cellar, Erik," Rand said hesitantly. "She says that she knows you...or did a long time ago."

"Who is that woman?" he demanded, beginning to feel the sweat that had been from the heat turn into something much worse. A clammy, cold sweat of fear.

"I've never seen her before," Susanna responded, although she was certain Erik had not been speaking to her. The woman riding towards them looked wild and free. A dark, beautiful creature that seemed to fairly shout that she was a woman, in every sense of the word. And the look on Erik's face confirmed that he was not unaffected by the sight of a beautiful woman.

Erik's memory struggled...and strained, working against itself, and trying desperately not to believe he was seeing a ghost...until suddenly it was as if his entire system shut down. The face...she came closer...closer, until suddenly Cesar's head was at his shoulder, and he was staring into the blackest eyes he had ever seen. The darkest ones from his dreams...from his nightmares. From the soul sucking pit of hell he had lived in for years as he tried to forget her. Tried, and failed, so mired in guilt that often he saw this same delusion...this same image before him.

Never before had it seemed so real.

He could see the hesitation in her eyes, feel the energy that emanated from her. The way she looked at him confirmed he was in Hell, and his spine withered at his feet in panic and confusion. There was nothing awaiting him, but the Devil's right hand. He reached for it...struggling not to believe in that dark hope, not to seek that demented reward.

But she was so real...

So damn real, it was as if he could touch it. Touch her...as he had done so long ago. Would she die this time? If he touched her, would she die?

"Mirela."

"Erik," she replied softly, then slid from the snorting horse's back. "It has been a long time, my friend. I take it surprised does not begin to cover your feelings at the moment."

His mouth struggled to even open, and when it did no words formed. This could not be Mirela. Not...could not...definately could not be her. She was wearing different clothes...speaking French fluently...she was _alive_...

"I saw you," he whispered in a hoarse voice. "You...you died..."

"Mama," Daniel whispered, tugging at Susanna's dress.

Everyone froze as they looked at the boy, who looked frightened at the tension that had filled the air. Erik could not manage anything. No words of comfort...no excuses for his behavior. He did not look Susanna in the eyes, fearing what he might show. Confused did not describe what he felt.

"Daniel...why don't you run into the barn...pick out a kitten to take home?" Rand offered helpfully.

Susanna did not even protest as her son released her in favor of pursuing a pet they did not need. The look in Erik's eyes had rendered her speechless, and she fairly bristled at the way the woman was looking at him. She wasn't even sure she was understanding that this was the girl Erik had spoken of. The one he had loved so desperately. The one who had died...the one who he had endured unspeakable pain for, because he loved her so much.

Mirela could think of nothing to say to him. He appeared so very different from the boy she remembered. Almost in a trance, her hand reached out to touch his mask, and she watched his lips tighten as she felt the soft leather.

"So different," she murmured, then briefly touched the false black hair. "You're still so very handsome. Erik."

The coldness inside him would not permit him to retort. She had always said that about him...and he had tried hard to believe her, but his time spent in front of crowds always convinced him otherwise. He had allowed them to damage him, never listening to the only person left in the world who he trusted.

"You...," he began, and continued to gaze at her helplessly. "You..."

"I am alive," she confirmed, and slid a quick glance towards the petite blond who was scowling more by the minute. "Illusions...remember the mirrors, Erik? Do you not remember what mirrors can do?"

It seemed his face paled, although against the white mask it was hard to determine.

"I touched you, and you died," he blurted out. "You..._no_...I _watched_ you. I know what I saw! I know...I'm not crazy! I heard you screaming. You were burning...my God, your entire body was on fire! You...God! Get away from me," he whispered roughly, and staggered backwards feeling ill. Dizzying panic set in, as he began to feel his heart ripping from his chest. His stomach lurched, and he made it to just the other side of the carriage before he released its contents into the dry, dusty earth.

- -

The sound of his retching was almost too much for Susanna to bear. The woman standing in front of her seemed terribly affected by it as well, and turned towards Rand with a look of complete helplessness. Erik retched again, sounding horribly now like he was crying, and she felt her heart wrench inside.

"Could you give him some space...please?" Susanna asked, giving Rand a pleading look. "Take Daniel away...he doesn't need to see this."

She turned, not waiting to see if either of them obeyed, and went to his side. The smell reached her nostrils, and she struggled to suppress the urge to gag herself. Working in a schoolroom better prepared her for it than most, but it was still nauseating.

"Erik?"

"She's not real. Not real...," he whispered, beginning to wipe his mouth, then stopping as Susanna's hand pulled his away.

"Let me," she said softly, pulling a linen from the sleeve of her dress and gently cleaning around his chin. He stared vacantly ahead as she tended to him, and Susanna had the feeling he did not even know she was there. "Erik, look at me," she commanded him, touching his cheek. "Look at me...please..."

His eyes moved to hers, but remained unfocused for several moments. "She is not real," he repeated, sounding breathless and frightened. Susanna had never seen anyone in such shock. Such disbelief. And to see the normally composed Erik in such a state was more than alarming. It was terrifying. She pushed at his shoulders until he moved away from the remains of his breakfast, trying to keep from stepping in it.

"Erik, you aren't imagining anything," she said reassuringly. "Is this her...is this Mirela?"

He laughed, a strange and wild sound that made her stomach tighten. He no longer looked sane. He looked quite delusional, and she suspected that he thought the entire thing was just that...a delusion.

"Erik..."

He lifted his head, looking into the dark eyes that had haunted him. That had chased him all across Europe, then througout the Orient, and still had managed to survive in the cold depths of the theater. Those eyes...and that face. He wasn't crazy...not entirely...but he knew what he had seen, and he had watched her catch on fire. Her screams had stayed inside his head for years, until he had finally learned that music was the only way to block it out. But he had never gotten over what his touch had done to her. He had touched her, and then she had died.

"I...I don't understand," he finally managed, looking at Susanna for guidance. She held onto his arm, as if she could support his weight, and he leaned against her gratefully. "_You_ can see her?" he whispered, his voice lowered for her ears only.

"Yes," she responded, slightly puzzled. She placed a hand against his cold cheek, feeling sweat sliding from every angle of his face. "Maybe you should sit down."

He nodded, but did not attempt to move towards the house, or towards the barn, or even slump to the earth, which is what he really felt like doing. Nothing made sense, and as he looked into Mirela's concerned eyes, he knew nothing ever would. How was it possible she had survived, when he had spent so long punishing himself over her death? Why had he taken Danoir's life, if it had not been in revenge for hers? He never would have killed, if it had not been for her. Not the first time. Not ever. If he had wanted his freedom, he would have simply taken it.

Mirela approached him cautiously, seeing how unsteady he was on his feet. She had known he would be shocked...had known what a surprise it would be to him, but she had not expected such a violent reaction from him. He had always needed a little shove before...a little incentive for action, especially when he had been hurt. If not for her not-so-gentle prodding, he would have bled to death in the cage many times instead of her bullying him for treatment.

Her protective nature reared it's ugly head, and she hardened her mouth into a firm line. "That's enough, Erik. Enough. There are other things going on right now, and we don't have time for your histrionics. For one," she turned catty eyes toward the petite blond who was beginning to look more than a little angry, "you might ask your future wife why her mother kidnapped me, and what she knows about her plans for killing you."


	98. Natural Reaction

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna felt her own stomach churn at the mention of her mother. Elisabeth felt very heavy in her arms, and Mirela was glaring at her, pointing a finger at her accusingly, and suddenly she felt swamped by guilty grief. She prayed that it was not true. Erik continued to struggle breathing beside her, his face still looking pasty and sick.

"My mother?" Susanna whispered. "What...what are you talking about?"

"As if you didn't know," Mirela said, and Susanna could practically feel the dislike the woman held for her.

"Ladies," Rand said quietly, and came out from the barn. He pushed Daniel towards the house, and he ran ahead, presumably to find Rachel or Eli. "Mirela, Susanna doesn't know anything. Don't accuse her of conspiring against Erik."

He handed Erik a canteen of water he had taken from the barn, watching as Erik stared at it dumbly for several moments before he poured some into his mouth, then spit to the side. He did that a few times, then swallowed, not looking at any of them as he tried to make sense of Mirela's appearance. It didn't set well with Rand to have a man have such a strong reaction to seeing Mirela. He had lain with her last night. Held her as she cried. Kissed her so much, and so often he was certain he would never want to kiss any other woman again.

"Tell me," Erik finally said, his voice rough. He coughed several times, trying to control his aching throat. Mirela placed her hand over his arm, and he stared at her as if she were a snake. Her touch made him feel sick again, and he moved backwards until she let go. "Just tell me," he repeated, staring at the ground.

"I stole your horse," she said quietly. "I didn't know it was yours, obviously, or I would have called for help. I was just eager to be out of that cellar."

"That was you?" he asked, although he could recall Rand mentioning it, right before his heart had fallen to his feet. "Why...why were you there?"

"That man was Adam Dessain's brother," Rand said, shedding a little light on the situation. "She says that...and I'm terribly sorry, Susanna...that Madame Allard kidnapped her, and was planning on killing you." Rand shoved his hands into his pockets, meeting Mirela's eyes. She looked as pale and shaky as Erik, and he could tell that his recoil had wounded her. Susanna looked greatly upset too, and held her hand over her mouth as tears rushed out of her eyes.

"Why Madame Allard?" Erik asked, glancing up to see Susanna's pale face. He wanted to offer her something. A hand. A shoulder, a kind word, but he could think of nothing. And he could not get past the fact that the woman who had been on his mind for years was before him. Living, breathing.

"Erik...do you remember when we escaped?" Mirela asked. "Do you remember how they dragged us back to the camp? You were literally drug, behind a horse...they put me on behind...behind Rulv...and took us back...remember?"

"I lost consciousness briefly, but yes," he replied, remembering the abrasions along his legs, arms, and back. The ground had skinned him unmercifully, and at one point he had struck his head on a rock. "I woke a few days later...and you were in the cage with me...cleaning me up." He licked his lips, wondering how his mouth could feel so dry after all he had done. "When they saw that I was awake, they took you. Tied you to a wall inside..."

"The hall of mirrors," she finished for him. "A moving wall, if you remember correctly. And you were out nearly a week, not a few days. Long enough for Rulv to decide that torturing your mind was much better than anything he could do to me. They planned on using me for more hallucinations. They designed another illusion. To drive you crazy..."

"They didn't need to," he muttered.

"What does my mother have to do with this?" Susanna demanded, feeling jealousy and guilt war inside her heart. She was glad that Mirela had not died, but she certainly did not need Erik's first true love coming back and stealing him. Not now. Not after all that they had shared.

"At the fair in Paris," Mirela said, looking at Erik now. "Madame Allard saw you one night, correct?"

Erik nodded, glancing at Susanna again. He felt such anger for that woman, and now there was nothing he could do, if he wanted to keep Susanna. He could fulfill his every murderous fantasy, and nothing would ever be the same again. He would lose Susanna, forever.

"She came back the next night, Erik. After...after Danoir was dead, she came back. She wanted to buy you," Mirela said softly. "But you were gone. Rulv offered her me, instead. They had been keeping me in a cage at the front of the fair, out of sight and out of mind."

Susanna and Erik stared at her, both of them obviously shocked into silence. She felt Rand place his hand against her back and touch her gently. She turned to him and offered a weak smile, but her eyes returned to Erik's green ones, and Susanna's blue ones. They both looked ill, both pale and stunned.

"Why did she...has she kept you all these years?" Erik finally asked, seeing no sign of abuse on her at all. She actually looked quite peaceful. So beautiful. Just like he had imagined her growing up.

"No. Not all of them," Mirela said, and decided to spare him any more grief. He had been through enough. "I...I think that is enough for now. I've been living in Paris all this time, and I have a nice home on Avenue Foch."

Erik raised one eyebrow, recognizing the posh street. Obviously she had done well for herself. And she looked beautiful. He could feel his heart slowly returning to normal, feel color flooding his cheeks as blood rushed back into his brain, along with rational thought. He wiped at his mouth again, realizing suddenly he could be covered in any number of things from his abrupt and unfortunate dismissal of his breakfast.

"Where is my mother now?" Susanna asked her.

"I don't know. No one has seen her."

"Then how do you know she did this? How do you know?" she asked, not wanting to believe that her mother could sink so low, and knowing in her heart that she probably could.

"I opened my front door a little over a week ago...and there she was...with that disgusting Raymonde Dessain, although I didn't know who he was until Rand helped me," Mirela answered softly. "They covered my mouth with something, and I first woke up in the cellar. I...I honestly did not intend to kill him..."

"Did he hurt you?" Susanna asked, and Mirela was surprised at her anxious tone.

"No. No, I wasn't hurt. Hungry? Yes. Filthy?" she shot a slightly pointed look at Rand, who blushed, "Yes. But Monsieur Vallee helped me. He has been...very...very kind."

Rand felt as if his heart were somersaulting at the way she looked at him. Their eyes met, and they did not notice the look the other couple shared as they continued to stare at one another.

Erik cleared his throat, and they both looked quite embarrassed.

"Will you...will you be staying here?" Erik asked. "My father...do you know anything...?"

"Rand told me about your family," she said, smiling. "I'm very happy for you."

She approached him again, ignoring the insecurity and reluctance in his eyes. He was quite tense as she embraced him, but allowed her to put her arms around him and give him a hug.

Erik did nothing more than stare at her as she touched the mask, and he knew that Susanna was probably feeling hurt, because he had never allowed her to do so. He wasn't sure why he was allowing Mirela. Perhaps because his heart was no longer at stake with her...and that realization was a relief by itself. He had loved her...as a girl. He would always care for her, but he no longer knew her. And did not know if she was even willing to accept him in her life.

"You should stay at my father's house," Erik said softly. "You'll be safe there...if you can tolerate my family."

Susanna felt her stomach tighten, and struggled to breath even as her daughter wrapped her legs tighter around her waist. The woman was touching his mask, and he was offering to let her stay at his father's house. It was too much. Too fast. The information and significance of the woman's presence was overwhelming, and she tried to slow her racing heart, that was becoming fueled by bitter envy.

"She's safe here," Rand said.

"But not your problem," Erik returned neatly. "She's...she's family to me."

"If you say I'm your older sister, I'll hit you," Mirela threatened him. "And yes," she said, giving Rand an apologetic look. "I'll be happy to stay at your father's, until this is resolved. Then I must return to Paris."

To return to the quietness of her life, and find out if and how much she really felt for him. To see if what she had in Paris was still what she wanted...and she knew if she spent another night with Rand...she wouldn't care. The last thing she wanted was for him to change her mind for her, without even asking. It would be so easy to let go, to give in to desire and accept his offer. But if it was real...then she would be able to determine that easier at a greater distance. Such as the Talbot's, and in Paris. But Rand looked so damned hurt, so disappointed, she almost changed her mind then and there.

Not to mention the look of jealous anger that Susanna was giving her. She was so much unlike her mother, and she realized suddenly, the perfect woman for Erik. He needed someone to feel that way about him. To be jealous over him. It would serve him good, to have two women feel possessive over him, not that she was entertaining romantic notions. Not after last night.

Mirela turned away from Erik, and wrapped her arms around Rand's neck. His brown eyes showed surprise, and instant desire as she pulled his head down for a soft kiss.

"Thank you for...everything...," she whispered, kissing him once more. "I promise...I'll visit before I leave. Tell Rachel...tell Rachel goodbye for me. And Eli."

His eyes begged her to stay, and she wondered how in the world she could ever forget him. She knew as she climbed into the carriage beside Susanna and a little girl, and the suddenly panting boy that she had seen earlier as he raced after his mother, that forgetting Rand Vallee was going to be one of the last things she ever wanted to do.

- -

Erik pulled Cesar to a stop beside the carriage containing his fiance and Mirela. Daniel pounced out of the carriage, going straight inside to find Henri, and Erik dismounted in time to take Elisabeth, and help them both from the carriage. He had heard no conversation between the women as he rode behind them, and wondered what he could say to possibly ease Susanna's mind. And he was avoiding thinking about Guinevere, because if he did, he would lose that precious grip on his anger. The anger that remained, to this day, and was now intensified at the thought of her hurting Mirela. And now...? Now he had to contend with his own desires. The desire that had plagued him in the opera house.

He hoped Guinevere was gone. Hoped, more than he had ever hoped for anything else. He could deal with her. He could hate her. But if he killed her, he killed everything else.

Susanna was already hurt over his reaction to Mirela. But what could he say to her?

That he did not have those feelings anymore? That Mirela remained a friend...a girl who had taken care of him in times he had been both in great pain, and great mental anguish, but that she would remain a friend and nothing more? What could he say?

"Will you...will you go to the lake with me later?" he asked Susanna, leaning close and whispering in her ear outside the door to her cottage. "I'm going to take Mirela to my father's...and I'll come back tonight."

She nodded slowly, glancing at the beautiful woman behind him. She had kissed Rand as if he were an old lover, and she couldn't help but wonder if such things came easy to her.

"Susanna?"

She looked back at Erik, seeing his eyes filled with concern. "Yes?" she whispered.

"I love you."

He took her hand and kissed it, then kissed her cheek, then her forehead.

"I would kiss you here," he said softly, touching her lips, "but perhaps I will do that later. After I've washed my mouth good."

"Okay," she replied woodenly, although her heart had surged in joy at his words. "I love you," she said, and gave him a soft, hesitant smile. "Be careful...please, ride in the carriage...and be careful."

Erik kissed her cheek again, then handed Elisabeth to her. He cupped his hand around the girl's face, and growled against her ear, to the delight of the child. Susanna chuckled as the girl buried her face against her neck and squealed, and she felt the last of her doubts slide away.

Erik was hers. He would always be hers, and nothing would change that.


	99. Double Stabled

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

They began smiling secretively at each other halfway to Artenay. Erik could not help but recall a million memories of her, being so fiercely protective of him, and sometimes annoying him with being so utterly female, but always showing such kindness. Time slid away effortlessly, nothing like his struggle with Susanna, and he felt as if he had never been parted from her. In a way he never had. Mirela had been with him nearly every night, in every single country he had ever slept in. In almost every dream, and many of his nightmares.

"I still can't believe it," he whispered softly, leaning forward to get a better look at her. She grinned at him, and covered his hands with hers.

"You look so different."

"You look exactly the same," he replied, "except you...well...I've never seen you so..."

"Dressed?"

"I was going to say properly attired," he admitted, feeling his face burn. "You don't have any trouble living in Paris?"

"I don't go anywhere," she admitted quietly. "I do get glances...people staring...men," she said flatly, then shrugged. "But I rarely ever leave my home."

"That is no way to live," Erik muttered. "I speak from personal experience."

"I was told you've only been here about a month. Where did you live before that?" she asked, sitting back and folding her arms across her stomach.

"Switzerland. Before that, Paris. I've been a lot of places," he responded, looking at her intently.

"This is my first time outside of Paris...since Madame Allard took me away from the fair," Mirela said, sighing heavily.

"What did she do with you?"

"I...lived with her," she hedged, not wanting to tell him what she had been. "Tell me about Monsieur Vallee," she demanded, trying to steer the conversation away from Madame Allard.

"What...uh...well, I suppose he is a good man," Erik stammered. "I went to school with him...he was a bothersome troublemaker, always getting Derrik and I in hot water. Why?"

She lifted her shoulder, and a smile played at the corner of her mouth. "No reason."

Erik stared at her for several moments, deciding he did not really want to know. She was an adult now, and perfectly capable of making her own decisions. Rand had not better even consider hurting her though, or he would answer to him. Still, it would ease Susanna's mind if those two had some sort of relationship.

"I'm marrying Susanna," he said, looking down at his feet for a moment. "She's...she's been very good to me. And she doesn't have anything to do with her mother. I trust her, more than anyone else in the world."

"What are you going to do about Madame Allard?"

He felt sweat break out on his face, and closed his eyes a moment. He didn't want to do anything. He didn't want to have to make a decision about it, because doing that meant losing Susanna. He knew what he wanted to do...but those urges would have to remain suppressed. He had found life, and he never wanted to lose it again.

"Nothing," he whispered, his voice sounding uncertain even to himself. "Let the Prefect deal with her. She can't hurt me."

"Erik, do you have any idea what that woman is?" she hissed at him.

He nodded, and she shrank back against the cushion, afraid he would know what she was too.

"Mirela, do you have any idea what I am?" he whispered, and touched his mask pointedly. "Did you...do you enjoy opera?"

"No," she said flatly.

He laughed slightly, knowing that it would definitely not be something she would enjoy. Not after the beautiful music of the Gypsies. "Do you read the newspaper?"

She eyed him suspiciously, "Yes. Why?"

Erik sighed. "Do I really have to spell it out for you? My former home was the opera house in Paris. I was quite a clever little ghost."

Her eyes widened as she processed that, then she began to laugh. Erik watched her as she laughed harder, and smiled despite the embarrassment he felt at admitting that to her. She would take it differently of course, because her culture was steeped in superstition and over the years had developed a necessity to trick Europeans to avoid being persecuted. She laughed until tears gathered in her eyes, and she could not stop.

"You...you're the _Phantom_? Oh, that is precious. Oh...oh, Erik, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh at that," she said, sputtering and covering her mouth in mortification.

"I've seen her several times in the theater. If I had wanted my revenge so badly, I could have taken it then. But she is Susanna's mother. And Derrik's mother. I've never hurt any woman, and I'll be damned if I'll break my vow over her. She isn't worth it," he said tightly.

She fell silent then, seeing how serious he was. Erik the Phantom? It made perfect sense. He was often times like a little ghost in the Gypsy camp, before Danoir had locked him up. He was the best pickpocket in the camp, and certainly the most clever, because half of him could blend in if he needed to.

"No one would have to know," she said softly, raising one finger across her throat and moving it slowly.

"I would know," Erik replied, not shocked that she would make that suggestion. "And I've done enough in my life, that I don't need another body on my conscience."

"Danoir?" she scoffed.

"Not just him," he said, looking her directly in the eyes. "There are other ways of subduing her, should she attack me. I doubt she will gain anything of it, even if she kills me. Susanna hates her."

"She won't kill you," Mirela vowed. "If you can't...or won't...that doesn't mean anything to me."

- -

To say that his family was shocked was an understatement. Emma fussed over her, claiming her to be the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and Jackson and Colin's mouths simply fell open. Jackson adored her in an almost pathetic worship immediately, and she stared at him in disdain when he attempted to charm her with a smile, and placed a lingering kiss against the back of her hand.

Lily did not look at all pleased to meet her, but Mirela did not pay any attention to his surly dark haired sister. She took to Emma instantly, allowing the woman to prepare her a room to rest in, which she did not need, and the maid to draw her a large bath, which she promised she would indulge in later.

"Erik...this is...this is the girl?" his father asked him before he could leave. "The Gypsy girl? Are you sure you can trust her?"

"I trust her with my life," he said quietly. "She saved me...I just...I thought my actions had killed her. For far too long, I thought I was...I thought my touch itself was poison. Everything I touched died. Including her."

Colin placed his hand on Erik's shoulder, glad when he neither flinched nor brushed him off. "I'll keep her safe," he promised him.

"I'm going back to Susanna's."

"What about Guin?" Colin said, worried immediately. "I...Erik, I don't want anything to happen to you."

"It won't," he said reassuringly.

"Take Jackson with you."

Erik laughed, wondering aloud what Jackson could possibly do to help him if a fifty something year old prostitute jumped out of the bushes, waving a gun at him. Probably offer her his wallet, just like he had done with Belle.

"Erik, I'm serious," Colin said, his voice tightening painfully. "I want to tell you...to tell you," he began to whisper, and lowered his eyes to the floor. After waiting for so long to say it, he almost felt as if he no longer could. He swallowed, and realized he was squeezing Erik's shoulder so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He raised his head, seeing Erik staring at him expectantly. "I love you, son."

The words were a gasp. An avalanche had fallen away from the frozen mountain, and poured inside his stomach. The cold weight settled there, and he wondered if spring would ever arrive.

"I know," Erik whispered, looking away, and red with the embarrassment of having tears. He wanted to say the words back, but couldn't. They crawled around in his throat, and he tried to force them out but they wouldn't budge. Instead he nodded, squeezed his father's hand for a moment, then brushed past him. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to say them.

It just hurt too damned much.

- -

Susanna's father was happy to see her, and listened with one ear to her chat about Orleans, then with both when she finally came around to telling him about Mirela...and her mother. Henri's mouth tightened, and his eyes flashed as she told him what her mother had apparently done. It broke her heart to have to tell her father those things, but they had dealt with Guinevere's deceit before.

"My God," Henri muttered, unable to believe that his ex wife could have done something, and hurt that she could. "What kind of man was I, to marry someone like that? How could I not have seen that?"

Susanna began to cry, and Henri immediately cursed, wishing he had not put it like that.

"There's nothing wrong with you, sweetheart. You couldn't choose who your mother was. I was perfectly capable of choosing my own wife. Please...please don't cry," he whispered, and held her hand. It was then that he saw the ring. "What's this?"

"Oh...," she gasped, and smiled wobbly at him. "Erik proposed to me, in Orleans. This was Francine's ring. Isn't it beautiful?"

Henri smiled, feeling his heart swell with happiness and pride. "Congratulations," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You...you certainly know how to make an old man proud."

"You aren't old, Papa," she chided him.

He sighed heavily, already feeling the loss of his daughter again. Only now he would be losing two grandchildren, and more of his heart than he thought possible to give away. And gaining a son. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his daughter, feeling grief for Derrik rise in him. It had been too long since he had gone to see Derrik's grave. He hadn't put any summer flowers out for him. Had barely been by since Erik returned. He lowered his head in shame, wishing it were Derrik he were visiting, and not a tombstone.

"Will you watch the children tonight?" she murmured. "Erik...I think he wants to tell me something tonight. Maybe about Mirela."

"Mirela, huh?" Henri said, giving her a knowing look. "Too many mares in the barn?"

"Papa," she scolded him, her face coloring rapidly. "Of course not. Erik would never be so dumb as to...double stable his horses."

She left him there and fled to her room, blushing more when she heard his laughter. Elisabeth peered at her happily over the edge of her crib, and Susanna blushed more.

"_Double stable?"_ she repeated, feeling mortified at the phrase.

"Mam-a," Elisabeth blurted, and Susanna forgot all about Erik, and Mirela, and anything else.

"You said Mama," she whispered, lifting her daughter up and carrying her to the rocker. "Oh, Lisbeth. You said Mama. Now, you shall have to learn to say Papa."


	100. Centennial

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik knocked on the door of the cottage, wondering even after all this time if it was appropriate for him to enter or not. Daniel answered, a smile breaking across his face immediately, then he scampered away. Obviously up to something, as Erik heard mischievous laughter coming from the hallway.

"You're here," Susanna said softly, coming out of the library with her head tilted sideways. "I...I..."

"Did you doubt I would come?" Erik asked, taking her hands in his.

She shook her head, but he could see she had been anxious. "I was worried about you, all alone," she replied, relief spilling through her as he squeezed her hands.

"I wasn't alone," he grinned lopsidedly, "I had my guard dog, Jackson. He turned in at Rand's, deciding he had enough of my company for awhile."

"Oh," Susanna smiled back at him, and gazed at his lips in longing. "I missed you today. Did everything go well with Mirela?"

"Yes. She is safely under Emma's wing, and will probably declare war on Lily by the time I return," he said, sighing heavily. "I don't think they're going to like one another much."

"Lily doesn't like anyone right now."

She pulled him into the library, laughing, and sat down next to him for a moment. Erik glanced at Henri as he lowered his book, peering at him over his spectacles.

"I hear congratulations are in order," Henri said, and Erik held his breath until Henri began to smile. "So...congratulations."

"Thank you," he replied, feeling chagrined. He had not come here looking to steal the man's daughter, promised that he wouldn't, then done so. And somehow he felt even worse, knowing what they had done together, when he had definitely promised he would not do _that. _"I will treat her good, Henri. I promise."

"I know you will," Henri said, meaning it. He knew Erik well enough now to know that he would never hurt Susanna. Not intentionally. Still...there was that girl who had shown up unexpectedly, and Erik had told him he loved her at one time. "Weren't you two going somewhere to talk?" he asked pointedly.

"Yes," Susanna said, relieved that her father wasn't going to keep them all night. "Yes, we were."

Henri gave her a scolding look. "Well, go on then, before Daniel pesters you more."

Quietly they eased out the door, and Susanna looked up at the sinking sun. She had planned on taking him to the lake, but after thinking about it all day, decided that there was something she needed to do. She had put it off for too long, and after seeing a part of Erik's past she had never thought to see, she wanted to open herself up more to him. Not that she was worried about Mirela stealing him, but the woman had touched his mask, something she was never allowed to do. And she wanted to show him that she trusted him...and wanted him to trust her as well.

"Erik, will you take me to see the house?" she asked, her voice losing the confidence she had worked out earlier. "Please?"

Erik turned on her in surprise, and worry etched itself into his face. "Susanna, you don't have to do this. I understand why you don't want to see it. After today...I understand."

Her lips parted, and she closed her eyes, not wanting to be reminded about Mirela. "I want to. Please, Erik."

He studied her for a few moments, seeing the sunshine set her hair ablaze, bringing to life the golden curls and her beautiful face. She was the sweetest, most innocent thing he had ever seen, and she was his. He took her hand, kissed it softly, and held it against his lips.

"I would love to show you the house," he whispered, and pulled her along the path that led home.

- -

The men had finished painting was the first thing Erik noticed as they crossed the yard. Susanna had kept her eyes to the ground, and he knew she was afraid to look up and see the bedroom window beneath the gabled roof. The house stood, white with shining, clean windows reflecting the sun. Curtains, he realized. His mother had hung curtains in every window, and right now they looked completely bare. The gray painted porch was there, where he had met Adam Dessain for the first time. Where his mother had sat with him on summer evenings in the swing, rocking him when he was a small child, and merely sitting beside him when he was a little older. He had sat with Susanna and Derrik there as well, and a few times even with Henri. It was just like he remembered, standing against the sky. A symbol of power, of hope. A tribute to the past. The part of his past that had not been tainted. Not been damaged by violence and greed.

A soft gasp drew his thoughts away, and he looked down at Susanna's white face. Her eyes were centered on the window where Derrik had jumped from, and her hand became cold and damp in his.

"Susanna?"

She jerked her eyes away, but did not look at him. She stared instead at the line of rosebushes the men had managed not to trample on.

"Come inside...it will be easier for you there," he said softly, and guided her up the steps. The painting inside was completed as well, although the concrete foundation was left. He had ordered most of his flooring supplies in Orleans, except for the kitchen. Monsieur Boef had the exact same material in his store, and Orleans had discontinued that particular flooring.

"It's very similar," Susanna whispered, looking around the main hall. The stairs were straight ahead, and would be very nice once the banister was polished and painted. She relaxed instantly inside, remembering how much warmth and love had always been in Erik's home. "I can almost see her..."

Erik felt his throat tighten again, and he was glad that Susanna had come with him. Coming and working here everyday was different. It was just work. He didn't take breaks and wander around, especially once it had begun taking form. He worked, he planned, he gave orders. He had not permitted himself to think about what he was building. He had just poured his heart into it, and now was left with a sense of relief that the work had paid off. He had mostly completed his childhood home, and was standing in it with the woman he loved.

"Me too," he whispered, and closed the front door behind him. He turned and moved towards the fireplace in the parlor, placing his hands over the mantle. "It needs a rocker. I...I don't know if I can stop until it's furnished. I don't know if I can give it up."

"Then don't," Susanna said softly.

Erik turned and looked at her, his eyes haunted and lost. She had not broken down when she had come here. In a way, it was almost a relief to know that. But she could see how much this house meant to him. And there was only one bad memory here, out of a thousand good ones. She had told Erik that once, about staying in the village, and she had meant it.

"I can't ask you to live here, Susanna. It wouldn't be fair. It would be like asking me to live in your old house...I couldn't live there. I don't want you to feel-"

She went to him and placed her hand across his lips. Her touch turned softer at once, and she traced them with a slow finger. "It isn't the same house. I thought when I saw it, I would break down. I didn't. I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I...wasn't sure what I would find. But I know this isn't the same house. It's beautiful. It's very sweet and honorable that you did this. And I know how much it means to you. I would love to share it with you. I would love to cook for you the way your mother did, and sit here with you at nights. I love you," she whispered, and opened her lips as his came down on hers. She pulled apart for a moment, feeling his breath hit her flesh, and fire shoot through her. "I love you."

"Suzie," he whispered, then kissed her again.

"Make love to me."

"Here...? Now?" he asked, leaning back to look at her.

"We have the...proper...equipment, do we not?" she said coyly, her hand rubbing his stomach softly. "Unless you have a reason for not wanting to..."

"No," he swallowed, closing his eyes as he felt his desire build. He had truly not expected anything tonight. Had merely expected to enjoy a walk with her, to talk, and set her mind at ease. Apparently she had her own way of easing her mind. "No, but...we don't have anything..."

"It doesn't matter. We've already chanced it twice," she murmured, her lips caressing his jaw, her hands reaching for his belt. "And I don't think I care at this point. Think of it as an incentive to marry me...quickly...," she chuckled.

He shrugged out of his coat, laying it over the thankfully swept floor, then turned her in his arms. She pressed her backside against him as he unbuttoned her dress, although it was incredibly difficult with her moving suggestively. He kissed the back of her neck, ceasing all her sexual banter. Susanna's head fell against his shoulder, and he nibbled at her ear, continuing down her dress.

"You need practice undressing women," she complained when he fumbled with one particular button too long. "We shall have to work on that."

He grinned as he finally managed to undo the last one. He spun her back around, kissing her neck greedily as he tugged the dress from her shoulders. "I will practice with you anytime," he whispered against her skin. He helped her remove the dress, and she began unbuttoning his shirt, running her hands inside against his chest. Catching the bottom of her chemise, it sailed over her head, and they removed the rest of their clothes in alike manner. Cast aside as the waves of desire threatened to explode upon them both.

Erik caught Susanna around the waist, naked now, and resumed kissing her. His mouth dipped low to her breasts, kissing the pink peaks with equal fervor. She groaned as he waited a half second between each kiss, slowing things down tremendously and heightening her passion.

"Please, Erik," she begged in a rough whisper, clutching his shoulders in demand for release. "Please...make love to me."

He pulled her down to the floor with him, sliding his hands over her legs, and across her stomach. Enjoying his attentiveness, Susanna rolled to her back and allowed him to caress her everywhere. Her breasts, her stomach, between her thighs, until she could not endure his torture a moment longer. She grasped him, closing her eyes in delight as he groaned. Shifting slightly, she kissed his lips as she touched him, stroking slowly until he was as wound up and breathless as she was. He was hard, and smooth against her hand, and she reached further and cradled him softly.

"Susanna," he gasped her name, his legs jerking as a volcano of heat shot through him. He pulled her hand away from him, unable to wait any more. Pushing her gently onto her back, he parted her thighs and kissed her stomach softly, delving lower for a brief moment, hesitant and curious in the same breath. He only intended to stay for a second, but her hips arched beneath him, and he caressed her and kissed her with his mouth, his heart pounding harder as she begged him to continue.

"Erik," Susanna cried, the sensation becoming too much. He slid up her body, his mouth beginning to kiss her neck as he positioned himself over her and slid into her. Free of anything between them, he moved slowly and deeply, murmuring words of love against her skin. Murmuring other things as well, and she locked her legs around him to keep him with her.

He grabbed her legs, commanding her to squeeze him tighter, and he worked inside her with such heat and passion she felt quickly the build of her climax. They were both already so aroused, he plunged into her ten more times before they both exploded and lay there gasping for breath, kissing one another in mutual hunger.

It was some time later when they got around to talking.


	101. A Promise of Revelation

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"What's wrong with you?"

Rand looked up sullenly as Jackson gave him the gravest of looks. "What are you talking about?"

"You look as if your dog died...or worse. I've never seen you so morose," Jackson said, sounding far too cheerful.

"I'm just thinking," he replied, then retrained his brooding eyes to the floor.

She had only been gone half a day, and already he missed her. Rachel had slunk off to her room, hurt that Mirela had not even said goodbye, and he had sat in his chair since she left, staring at the same spot on the floor. He dreaded thinking about going upstairs to where she had lain with him last night. At the same time, he nearly bolted up there to bury his face against his sheets, hoping to catch one last hint of her fragrance.

"So...you were here with her for how many days?" Jackson asked, and Rand looked up to see a lecherous gleam to his eyes. "She has to be the most beguiling creature I've ever seen. All that long black hair...those big dark eyes."

He closed his eyes, as if picturing her, and Rand leaned forward in his chair.

"Jackson, shut your mouth," he said, warning and threat in every word. "Or I'll shut it for you."

"Why? Erik is going to marry Susanna," he said, giving Rand a challenging smile. "And you have no claim on her."

"No," Rand agreed softly. "But if you even think about touching her, I'll rip you limb from limb."

"If she had wanted you, she would have stayed," Jackson taunted him, though he wasn't sure why. The woman had not liked him at all when he'd smiled at her and complimented her beauty. She had frowned, called him an ape, then retired to her room with his mother following.

Rand didn't say anything at that. It hurt like hell, after what they had shared last night. More than sex, though it hadn't gone that far. It had been so much more than sex, and he had never felt so close to another person's soul before. Never seen so deeply into a woman's heart, and he wanted more of hers. More of Mirela, and her body, and her soul. He wanted to feel her against him again, and he had meant what he said. He would never demand that she please him. He would have pleasured her, and never asked her to do the same for him.

Yet she had left with Erik. She was staying with Erik's father, even while Erik was not there. While he was with Susanna. And Mirela had said herself she would see him before she _left_.

Meaning she would not stay. She was returning to her life of independence and freedom, and that brief period between midnight and dawn had been nothing but a dream for her.

To him, it had meant the world.

"No sign of Madame Allard?" Rand asked, wanting to stop moping already, but knowing it would be a while yet. Maybe forever.

"None," Jackson said, sighing heavily. "My father sent me with Erik, hoping she was already gone. He thinks Erik might strangle her or something."

"I might do so myself," Rand said softly. "I think it would be in her best interests to leave."

"The Prefect wants to come over tomorrow morning and begin his investigation."

"You might mention Jean Labire was over here the other day, asking questions about Erik. He might find his answers there."

He had already told Jackson about Raymonde Dessain, and requested that Jackson pass that information along. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go to the Talbot's or not, but the Prefect would likely want to speak with him. He wondered already if Mirela would, or if she would pretend that nothing had happened.

And in the space of one minute, he was staring at the floor again, although he wasn't seeing wood. He saw black hair, and dark eyes...and in the back of his mind he saw that word tattooed on her skin.

Yes, Madame Allard might want to consider leaving Artenay. In fact, she might want to consider leaving Europe altogether.

* * *

Susanna and Erik snuggled closer on the floor, staring into one another's eyes as the light faded from the day. For the first time, he allowed her to touch the mask, although he could not hide the panic and fear in his eyes as she did so. She traced the white smoothness, occasionally touching the outline of his hair. She could feel the unevenness of his flesh through the hairpiece, and felt her heart contract with the knowledge of pain he had felt.

"Does it still hurt sometimes?" she whispered.

"It draws some," he said quietly. "Pulls...feels tight."

Her fingertips traced the edge of the mask again, and she longed to slip it from his face and kiss him there. Wanted it so badly she was nearly in tears, but she didn't want to hurt him, or make him angry with her. Instead she moved even closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face gingerly against the side of the mask.

"I love you, Erik Dessain."

He pulled her hips closer, until their legs were tangled in casual bliss. "I love you, Susanna Claire Allard Croix," he whispered.

"Oh," she flushed, "you remember my middle name?"

"I remember everything," he said softly. "I remember your fondness for frightening stories, mischief, for Scorpio the constellation."

"You...," she said teasingly. "I was particularly fond of you, Erik."

"I never noticed," he said dryly, his eyes closing as she pressed a kiss to the mask.

Each caress was like a blow, but he allowed them because he loved her. Because he trusted her...still, it was hard to accept her touch there. He knew she wouldn't take the mask. He knew that now, but he had really just wanted her to ignore it completely.

"Erik..."

He opened his eyes at the hesitancy of her tone. "Susanna, I know," he said softly. "You don't have to worry...I don't love her like that. I...I can't explain what I feel, but I know how I feel about you."

Her eyes still held uncertainty, and he kissed her lips slowly, exploring her with sweet soft brushes of his lips and tongue.

"You do love her," she said softly.

He raised his head, looking into her eyes. "Yes. I do. She was my only friend while I was with her people. For three years...we were quite close. And at the end, I was a young boy who was discovering the purpose of girls. And she was the only girl who ever looked at me and did not shudder."

"Or scream," she whispered, pain in her eyes.

"That too," he replied, "but I am not angry with you. And I would say I forgive you, but it isn't necessary. There was never any reason for you to feel guilt."

She closed her eyes as silent tears slid down her face. He kissed them away, then kissed the place on her throat where her feelings had balled inside.

"Suzie," he whispered, "look at me."

Her eyes opened, seeing his filled with pain and guilt of his own. She saw indecision race through his mind, and knew he was nearly ready to take off his mask. He thought about it, the hesitation and fear in wordless breaths that grew quicker in his body. He thought of it, and she saw him begin to shut down, and shut her out.

"I love you," she said softly, and leaned up to kiss him. "Perhaps we should be getting back. You should be home before dark."

Relief was evident as he helped her to her feet and they finished dressing and repairing their dusty clothing. She held him a moment longer, looking around the house one last time. She had yet to go upstairs, but knew it wouldn't be nearly as painful now. Nothing would hurt her again.

Erik was hers...and she knew that soon he would reveal himself to her.

Soon.


	102. A Missing Gypsy

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna opened the door the next morning to find Rand smiling down at her, a look of delight on his face, and a suspicious gleam in his eyes.

"Monsieur Vallee."

"Oh, stop," he blushed, then grinned wider. "I've given up all hope of charming you. My reasons for being here are honorable...and at the request of your fiance."

"Oh?" she blinked, then looked behind him. "And where is Erik this morning?"

"He's likely getting ready for a meeting with the Prefect. Which is why I am here...I was instructed to escort you to Artenay if you desire it," he replied, then rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Shall we go?"

"You're in a hurry," she said dryly, then turned back towards the kitchen. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No...no time, I'm afraid."

Rand stopped and took a breath, knowing he sounded as if he were ready to run a marathon. He was anxious to see Mirela again. The night before had been torture, and he had given up all hope of sleeping with each breath he took that drew in her seductive and alluring fragrance.

Susanna raised a brow at him, and said nothing as she set a plate of eggs in front of Henri, who was staring at him with a fork halfway to his mouth.

"Good morning, Henri," he said, suppressing a sigh.

"Randolf. You look fit to be tied. Am I missing something?" Henri asked mildly, then glanced at Susanna.

"Just nervous, I suppose," he admitted, though not for what reason. "I hope everything goes well for Erik. I understand the Prefect is of a suspicious nature where he is concerned."

Susanna frowned and stirred her eggs. "Yes, well he'd best keep his suspicions to himself. Especially after the rumors going around about my mother."

"Rumors?" he repeated, then glanced at Henri.

"What you said yesterday about her plotting to kill Erik." Her voice shook slightly, and she gripped the handle of her utensil. "I don't want to believe it. I just..."

"Susanna," Henri said, his tone in warning.

"I know, Papa," she whispered. "I just don't want to believe it."

Rand opened his mouth to confess more of what he knew, then closed it promptly. He had known these two people all his life...but he believed everything that Mirela had told him. He also knew how much it would hurt her if he revealed anything of her past. If he had any hope of her staying...he knew she would rather keep that part of her past a secret. Even from Erik.

He watched in silence as she finished cooking and called her children to the table. "Papa, I'll be back this afternoon, hopefully. And maybe we'll have this cleared up. You're sure you don't mind staying with the children?"

"Go," he said gruffly, looking down at his plate. If his ex–wife were in town, he didn't want to see her. "Be safe, both of you."

He watched them go with mixed feelings. If he had thought about Guin's reaction to Erik returning, would he have so readily given his consent for Erik to court his daughter? She was happier now than she had been in ages, and wore a smile that Rand Vallee, for all his charm had never been able to put on her face. Erik was like a second son to him. Derrik was gone, but he had his daughter, and he had wanted to keep Erik in his life this time.

But what was Guin doing? He wondered. And was she deranged enough to try and hurt Erik? The thought made him shudder, and he pushed the rest of his eggs away as his stomach twisted inside.

_**- -**_

"Good morning, Prefect," Colin greeted the man cordially, which obviously surprised him.

"Good morning Monsieur Talbot."

"Come in," he gestured for him to enter the room, and take a seat across from him in the parlor. "You remember my children: Erik and Jackson, and of course, this is Madame Croix, and her neighbor Rand Vallee."

"The neighbor who was present during the discovery of the body?" the Prefect asked Rand.

"The one and the same."

"And who is the lady in the back of the room?" he asked, intrigued by the woman who seemed to be trying to blend into the walls. An impossible feat, he thought, considering her beauty.

"Marie Purram," she volunteered, then cast a sweeping glance towards Erik. "A friend of the family."

He frowned, then turned back to Colin. "Alright. Now, I suppose you all won't mind accompanying me to the site."

"It isn't necessary." Colin said quietly.

"No? How wonderful that you have decided my job for me," the Prefect returned, his voice deceptively gentle.

"We have discovered the identity of the man, in the absence of the Talbot's and Madame Croix," Rand said softly. "His name was Raymonde Dessain. The brother to Erik's stepfather, Adam."

"The one who died in the fire?"

No one said anything, and the Prefect frowned.

"I have in my records that Adam Dessain died in the fire, along with his wife and a young boy. Am I mistaken?"

"No," Colin said quickly. "Not at all."

Susanna breathed a sigh of relief, thanking some neighbor for reporting the matter in such a way that it didn't involve her father. The last thing they needed was for the Prefect to charge her father for a twenty four year old murder, though she would never call her father that. He hadn't murdered Adam. He had given him exactly what he deserved.

"Then why was Raymonde Dessain there?" the Prefect asked, looking at each of them. "And how did he die?"

"I believe that I can answer that," Mirela answered, and stepped away from the wall. "Or part of it."

"Mirela," Erik warned, and caught her eyes. "This isn't necessary. I told you that."

"I did nothing wrong, and I'm not going to let him accuse you any further," she said firmly. Once she had found out about the Prefects allegations towards Erik, she had been determined to confess everything to the man. "I hit him over the head with a bottle of wine. He was keeping me in the cellar, he and a woman by the name of Guinevere Allard. Susanna's mother." She glanced at Susanna and sent her a wordless apology, though she wasn't sure if the younger woman noticed. Her face was pale, and she stared down at her feet, looking like a lamb in a lion's den.

"Madame Croix?" the Prefect looked at her.

"I know nothing. We are estranged," she whispered, then closed her eyes as Erik put his arm around her back.

"Madame Allard and I have a volatile history," Erik said softly. "Susanna had nothing to do with it. But I believe you can charge her with kidnapping, since she stole Madame Purram right from her house in Paris."

"Is this true?" the Prefect asked Mirela, looking weary.

"Indeed, it is," she replied. "I believe the woman had murder on her mind. Erik's murder. That was the impression I got, listening beneath the floor of the house."

Prefect Parlange sighed. "I should have sent someone else."

"Not exciting enough?" Erik asked sarcastically.

"How much more tangled could this get?" the policeman muttered. "I have your step-uncle dead, killed by a woman who is a friend of your family, placed there by your fiance's mother. Have I missed anything? Or is it common for people to want to kill you?"

"Fairly common," Erik grunted. "But I believe you have the facts. We should stick with those. Our messy family history will likely only confuse you more."

"So be it," the Prefect said with another sigh. "I already have a headache. I'm getting less inclined to know more. Now...where is Guinevere Allard?"

_**- -**_

The Prefect was satisfied with the 'accident scene', and returned to his room at the inn, claiming he had 'much to think about' before he went out to talk with Jean Labire, the neighbor who had been asking questions about Erik.

Rand and Mirela found themselves alone on the front porch of the Talbot house, staring anywhere but at each other in the silence of a hot afternoon. She made her way to the swing and sat down, staring at her hands and listening to the occasional creak of the chain, or the scuffle of his boot against the brick.

"You're going to leave, aren't you?" he finally asked, his voice neutral.

"Yes," she whispered, her throat beginning to ache. "As soon as this ends, I'm going back to Paris."

He closed his eyes briefly and turned his back on her, looking out over the immaculate yard and wishing he had the right to ask her to stay. But he didn't. Not after everything she had been through. He didn't have the right to make any sort of demand on her, or claim her in any way. She had already been claimed and possessed in the vilest manner. The only thing he could do was set her free.

"Rachel will be devastated," he said softly. And so will I, he added silently.

"Tell her she may visit me in Paris," she said softly, and saw his head nod slightly. "And Eli. And you."

Rand grew still, feeling as if his heart might burst. He knew then that he loved her. Loved her like he had never loved another woman. And truly he had never loved a woman like this. He turned back to face her and knelt before the swing, stopping its movements with his hands on either side of her knees.

"I want to visit you in Paris," he whispered. "Will you allow it?"

Mirela nodded, her mouth parting in shock. She knew he was asking for more than a mere visit, and the thought quickened her pulse fiercely. "I...I certainly will."

He smiled, the ache in his heart easing a thousand degrees as hope filtered through him. He would visit her. He would give her all the time she needed, and hopefully one day he would know when the right moment came and he could tell her how he felt. And hopefully she might say it back. Without another thought he put his arms around her and drew her close, and kissed her softly and gently on the lips.

She sighed and wound her fingers through his hair, breathing him in and letting him sweetly seduce her senses. If he asked her now to stay, she would do it without another thought. If he asked her to do anything, she would have done it, because she felt a trust for him she had never known with another man.

But he didn't, and it made her trust him all the more. He kissed her one last time and smiled at her.

"I'll miss you," he whispered, and then he let her go as blinding pain shot through his head, and he fell backwards from her grasp.

"You!" Mirela hissed, and attempted to stand. Her hand ached where it had been in Rand's hair, and she narrowed her eyes at the woman standing before her with a wicked smile. The tangle of Rand's legs, combined with the movement of the swing prevented her from getting to her feet. She could only sit in helpless wonder, unable to scream as she watched Guinevere hit her too across the head with a pistol, then stole her dazed body right off the front porch of the Talbot house.


	103. Bedlam

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

The sound of music filled the Talbot house, and Erik sat back and listened to his father pluck away at the piano, enjoying the feel of Susanna at his side, and the sweet soprano of Lily's voice. Mirela and Rand had disappeared, but Susanna had lifted her brow when he had suggested going to look for either of them. He sat back against the couch and surreptitiously caressed her side, squeezing her hip occasionally with his arm around her back. Susanna smiled but didn't look at him, and the only person who noticed his malfeasance was Jackson, and he hadn't looked at him for the last three songs anyway.

Emma sat on the bench near his father, and for the first time he was able to look at her without feeling the slightest twinge of guilt or fear. He decided that if she was willing to accept him...his father's by blow...then he would take whatever affection she offered, if any.

He turned his mouth to Susanna's ear, and simply breathed against her ear, inhaling the smell of sunshine and woman, pleased when her eyes closed, and her smile widened. She was still greatly upset at the news that her mother was skulking around, but Erik delighted in distracting her from the agony that was almost certain to come. The Prefect had all but declared his decision to take Guinevere back to Orleans with him, where she would be charged with kidnapping, and perhaps more if Susanna was willing to place trespassing charges on her as well. But for now, Erik leaned in and pressed a swift kiss against her cheek, wanting nothing more than to take her upstairs and explore her body, and make her his by giving her his name.

"Erik."

Erik turned his head sharply, seeing Jackson looking at him peculiarly. He tipped his head sideways, earning a glare from Lily when he stood up and left the room. Erik touched Susanna's cheek for a moment and followed his brother.

Jackson headed straight down the hall to the billiards room, shutting the doors when Erik entered with a sigh, drowning out some of the music, although it seemed that Lily's voice grew louder.

"I can't take any more," Jackson said softly.

"Can't take what?" Erik asked, rolling an ivory ball across the felt with his fingertips. "Lily singing? I thought she had a lovely voice."

Jackson shook his head slightly, and racked the balls. "I can't take Lily. Period. She's driving me mad...to be honest...all of you are driving me a little mad. Father, you, Susanna. The only person I can stand these days is my mother," he shuddered, "and I refuse to be coddled all my life. I want...I want to be free."

"Free?" Erik repeated, giving his brother a startled glance. "You are free. And you have your family around you; what more could you..."

He trailed off as Jackson rolled his shoulders, eyeing the sudden look of unhappiness and irritation on his brother's face.

"I'm almost twenty five, and I have nothing of my own," Jackson said softly. "I feel as if I've waited my entire life for Papa to find you...and now I'm nothing. I'm the second son. Nothing..."

"That isn't true," Erik protested, feeling panic rise in his chest suddenly. "You are his legitimate son. I can't...I can't fill in anything...I can't be perfect for him, Jackson."

He snorted, his green eyes narrowing on his brother. All his life he had been waiting for Erik to come along...waiting for Erik to fill in that gap that was inside his father's heart. That gap had been filled, and lately he had felt as if there were no more room in the family for him. He wanted – needed – to find his place in the world. Ever since he had met that prostitute in Orleans, he had been humbled and ashamed of his way of life, knowing he was taking it for granted. Maybe Belle's life hadn't been perfect, but it had been hers. He was living off his parents, as if he were a bloody nobleman! As if he were waiting for his father to die, so he could claim his inheritance.

Well, his father was nothing if not a proper Englishman. When he died, his wife and daughter would be provided for. And the first son would be his heir. The second son was supposed to make his own money...find his own fortune. As yet he had nothing other than the promise of a book to be published...a book that he had decided not to even publish, because of the things that had come to light. He didn't want to hurt Susanna more, and he knew that publishing a book that reflected her mother's sins would not be welcome. He might even earn disfavor from his entire family.

"You are going to have to be," Jackson said quietly. "I've decided to leave."

"Artenay?" Erik asked, "Well, I'm not sure when I will make it to England, but - "

"No. I'm leaving. I'm not going to England."

Erik paused, feeling his heart slow in his chest. "Where are you going?"

"I'm not sure. Somewhere I can make some money." He smiled slightly. "Perhaps I'll go to America. Perhaps not. Maybe I'll travel to China. I've always wanted to visit the Oriental colonies."

"China isn't a colony, Jackson! China is at war with itself constantly! You'd do better to go somewhere else. India, even Thailand, although it is not colonized. Don't go to China, or to Persia," he said a bit desperately, then shook his head. "What am I talking about? You aren't going anywhere. You can't leave, I'm getting married...you have to be there for my wedding. You can't leave..."

"I'm truly sorry. I will no doubt miss your wedding," Jackson said quietly. "I wanted you to be the first to know of my decision. Mama will not take this well, and Lily will accuse me of doing this to gain attention. Papa won't even notice my absence, so it doesn't matter...but you," he said, choking a little on fear, and cursing himself for it. "I am glad that you came home, Erik."

"You're serious?" Erik asked, noticing a firm set to Jackson's chin. Jackson nodded, and Erik sighed. "You know that he...that he loves you..."

"He loves you," Jackson said obstinately. "He feels responsible towards me...and it is past time that I stopped living off the man."

"He's your father - "

"That doesn't mean anything!" Jackson snapped. "Lily respects you far more than she ever respected me, and I know damn well he loves you more! I have to go. Don't you see, Erik?"

Erik nodded wearily. "You're a grown man. You have a right to do what you please." He hesitated for a moment, rolling one of the balls between his palms. "Some men need to stake their claim on the world. And you shall have yours, Jackson. We will all...all," he swallowed suddenly, wondering what was wrong with his throat. It had tightened, and he felt like weeping, much as he had the day his father had told him he loved him.

And thankfully Jackson needed no more, for he merely nodded, overcome himself. "I know," he whispered.

They stared at each other a moment, and in the background the sound of music came to an abrupt, discordant halt. Jackson frowned. It was completely unlike his father to miss a note, even if he was interrupted.

"Erik!" his father shouted his name, and Susanna suddenly appeared at the door to the billiards room, looking ashen faced and frightened.

"She's taken her," she said, her face frozen with fear. "My mother has taken her..."

"Taken who?" Erik asked, going to her immediately. "Elisabeth?"

"No...no...no...," she whimpered, shaking her head vehemently. "Mirela...she has taken Mirela."

- -

Erik caught her as she fell, and glanced over to see Jackson's wide eyes. He lifted her and took off at a run down the hall, stopping at the sight of blood smeared on the marble floor, leading into the parlor. Rand was sprawled out on the floor, a fresh wound being examined by Emma, who was pressing her own dress over the wound to staunch the flow.

"I'm going to retch," Rand mumbled, trying to push Emma away from him. "I'm going to kill her...but first I shall retch."

He didn't, miraculously, and Lily crouched down beside his step-mother and placed her dress over the wound as well, ordering a startled maid to summon a doctor.

"Erik, it appears that Guinevere took your...your friend," Colin said quietly. "Why don't you let me take Susanna upstairs so that she may rest? Jackson, you may go to the inn and fetch the Prefect."

Colin took Susanna from Erik and stalked away, his back stiff with anger and fear. How dare that woman invade his home? How dare she? he raged, and glanced down at the pale face of his future daughter in law. He said a small prayer that she would never have one ounce of the evilness that possessed her mother. Even one ounce...and she would never be good for Erik.


	104. A Rushed Plan

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik clenched his hands as he knelt next to Rand. He rolled the man slightly to the side, ignoring the protests of Emma, who claimed he shouldn't be moved while injured. The blood dripped, thick and heavy onto the floor, and he listened to the splat of red meeting red, all the while feeling the same color wash over him as rage penetrated the fog in his mind.

"What happened?" Erik asked quietly, and Rand's eyes fluttered open, not seeing him for several moments.

"She brained me," he whispered. "I never even heard her."

The last thing he remembered was the darkness of Mirela's eyes, alive with passion and the promise of a future together. He blinked, trying to stay conscious, but he already felt himself slipping off again.

"I love her," he groaned in pain. "Tell her...tell her..."

Erik watched him struggle to remain awake, and he placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling an odd tightness in his chest. "I will," he promised softly, and glanced up at Lily, then at Jackson.

When he stood, he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. The thing he had most wanted to avoid was imminent. There was nothing more for him to do...Madame Allard had cornered him so effectively...and given him no choice, really.

"Erik, don't," Jackson said quietly.

"I have to," he whispered, and turned back towards the stairs. The lasso was lying there, in the back of his closet. He hadn't wanted to use it again...he promised himself that if he was able to subdue her, he would snap the string and discard it, along with the memories of that horrid place he had learned to wield it in.

"You should let the Prefect deal with her."

He turned at the sound of his father's voice. Colin stood in the doorway, looking properly worried, and more sorrowful than angry. Erik tucked the lasso beneath his coat, his features frozen in defeat.

"I'm not that sort of man," Erik replied slowly, his hands falling away from the rope. "I don't want to hurt her...surely you know that..."

"I do," Colin said, glancing away. "But I don't think you ought to go, Erik. Your fiancé is going to be quite upset if you – "

"Don't say it!" he growled. "Don't...not right now!"

"Mirela is not the woman you love," Colin said, trying again, his voice overcome with intensity.

"You're wrong," Erik whispered. "She is just not the only woman I love."

Erik paused in the doorway for a moment, but neither of them said anything. Erik braced his hand against his father's shoulder and squeezed, unable to speak kind words, when his heart was filled with such anger and hate. He took a breath and let go, and ventured out into the hallway, catching a glimpse of Susanna lying on the bed as he passed her room.

He didn't go inside...doing so would make him lose the precious grip he had on his anger. Doing so would ensure that he didn't harm Guinevere...no matter what she did to him.

_**- - **_

Mirela's head glanced off the floor as a man released her body. She cradled her hand, knowing several of her fingers had been broken. They had been tangled in Rand's hair when Guin had hit him, and now they were broken and throbbing so badly she wanted to weep. She wanted to weep for other reasons...mostly out of fear. What would happen to her now? No one...not even Rand had seen what happened.

And Rand...poor Rand. He had to be dead. Her fingers were broken; Guin had hit him that hard on the head...obviously she hadn't hit her as hard, because she had retained consciousness for the better part of her journey, riding in a thumping wagon as it careened over broken ruts.

She twisted her head slightly, feeling the sticky blood as her face peeled away from the floor. Guin was shouting at someone, and the voice grated on her ears...and sounded oddly fuzzy at the same time. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them she heard boots striding across the floor. Her head lolled backwards, and icy blue eyes stared down at her in contempt.

"My little slave girl," Guin said with false warmth. "How good of you to join us."

Us? Mirela tried looking around the room, but her head hurt too much. "Why?" she whispered, her voice faint and weak. "Why...why?"

She wasn't sure exactly what she was asking anymore. Why had she been kidnapped? Why did Rand have to die, when she loved him? Why were there two Guin's now, instead of one? She blinked, and only one remained, though they blurred in and out repeatedly, sometimes becoming three Guin's, sometimes four.

"Stupid slave," Guin muttered, and halted her foot just before it landed in the darker woman's side. "No...I want to torture you...but perhaps Monsieur Labire would like to do the honors."

Guin turned and gave the man a wicked smile, but he was sweating and backing away from them both, a look of terror on his face.

"You crazy she – devil," he whispered. "I only do this sort of thing in Paris...under your tutelage, and with a woman's consent. I never...never...not an unwilling – "

"You really think women sustain beatings so you can get pleasure _willingly_?" Guin laughed. "Oh, priceless Jean. That is priceless. There are only a few that will do it _willingly_...myself included, if the beatings are done properly of course."

She turned back to the woman lying on the floor and leaned over, raking her long nails deep into the flesh of her neck. Mirela flinched, and struck out with her legs, sending the older woman sprawling across the floor. Satisfaction was short lived, because when Guin managed to get to her feet, there was raw hatred in her eyes.

_**- -**_

Erik doubted Cesar had ever ran so fast in his life. Fleeing Paris had been fast, yes, but nothing compared to the reckless ground he covered as he flew across the earth, trying to remember where exactly Jean Labire lived. Hadn't it been just past the schoolhouse? But no...that had been where Ugly Ruth had grown up...now the place was deserted. He struggled to remember...then he did, tearing up more dirt as he veered to the right, and up into the hilly area behind the lake. Labire's cottage was sitting behind a dense pine thicket, it's thatched roof almost invisible behind a slightly larger house that likely belonged to his son and his family.

Erik left a protesting Cesar in the forest and slipped to the side of an uncurtained cottage window. He could see nothing beyond the filthy glass, and rubbed at it with his sleeve, seeing it was an empty bedroom. From the litter and junk surrounding the Labire's property, it was obvious they didn't care about much of anything. And according to the bathing tub, discarded beside the house, Jean didn't bathe very often either.

He moved to another window, and this time he could see her on the floor, Madame Allard standing above her with a sneer on her face. Erik's breath caught...the woman looked a bit like Susanna. How could he look into those blue eyes, and kill her? How could he...how could he...

She kicked Mirela, and he knew immediately that he could. At what cost, he didn't know, but he had to save her. She had saved him far too many times for him to abandon her.

He went back to the unoccupied bedroom and glanced inside before he slid the pane up. Thankfully it was a fairly long frame, and he stepped through it relatively easy. His boot steps were muffled against the carpet, but nothing could be heard over Guin's screeching now anyway. Jean Labire spotted him first as he stepped through the open door, where he had been slouched in a kitchen chair with his head in his hands.

"Oh, God," he moaned, staring up at their guest.

"Not quite," Erik said softly, his eyes trained on Guin until she spun around to face him.

For a moment nothing was said. Erik felt his heart pound as he remembered the night she had left him. Remembered the look in her eyes...her accusations that Derrik's death had been his fault. His fault, and he had never let that go. Guilt still plagued him, but since coming to Artenay it had lessened so much he hardly felt it. Everyone around him felt guilt...he was just one more person that had let Derrik down. What a relief to know he wasn't the only one.

"Ah," Guin said, slowly recovering from his sudden appearance. "You've decided to save your sweetheart...I guess you didn't see her kissing Monsieur Vallee...but I suppose you don't mind so much, since you have defiled my daughter."

"Mirela, are you awake?" he said, not taking his eyes off Guin. "Turn your face. I'm afraid this isn't going to be a pleasant sight."

Jean Labire stood suddenly, and stumbled backwards. Erik took his eyes off her for a moment, only to watch the man run from his own house. When he turned back to face Guin, it was down the barrel of a pistol that he looked, and not into her evil eyes.

"On your knees, Erik. I want to see what you look like now." She smiled, her face showing her wicked delight. "Let's see what's under that mask of yours."


	105. Shifting the Share of the Blame

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Susanna panicked as soon as she opened her eyes. Four Talbots were staring at her, and Erik was nowhere to be found in the room. She rose quickly, ignoring the dizziness that came with it, cursing herself for fainting at the sight of all that blood.

"Where is Erik?" she asked, her voice sounding a little shrill. Though she knew...she had known by the grim set of Colin's jaw, and the fearful look in the rest of the Talbot's eyes. Colin was their rock...and he was telling her that Erik had gone. Not with his words...but with the look of a father so beyond tears that he was well into shock. "Rand?"

"He's being examined by the doctor," Lily said quietly. "Erik has left to save his...his _friend_, from _your_ mother."

"Lilian." Colin gave his daughter a look that sent her from the room, with Emma trailing behind her. He turned back to Susanna, and forced a smile on his face. "It's alright dear. We know you didn't have anything to do with it."

She started sobbing, because she knew that wasn't true. How could they not think it? How could they, when she didn't believe it herself. "I have to find him," she whispered. "I can talk to her...talk her out of it..."

"No," Jackson said softly, and sat beside her on the bed. She accepted his arms around her, wishing it were Erik. Wishing it were her father. "It's far too dangerous for you. Erik would want you to be here. To be safe."

"He went alone?" she asked, leaning back to look at them both. "He went alone...to..."

Susanna closed her eyes, wondering if a life without her mother was a blessing or not. It was...it was. But not at the expense of Erik's freedom and happiness. And she knew instinctively that he didn't want to do it. She knew, because she had seen him come alive before her eyes. She had seen him fall in love with her, and the past had slowly slipped from his grasp. He hadn't let go fully, but if he killed her mother, then nothing would be the same ever again.

She squeezed Jackson's arm tightly, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "Jackson, I have to go. Erik can't...he can't..."

"He may already have done so," Colin said quietly.

Susanna bolted from the room and down the stairs, skirting around Rand's blood trail as she went out the door. She could hear Jackson and Colin thundering behind her, but she had already caught sight of Rand's gray horse grazing free in the yard. He didn't shy as she went for his reins, and stood perfectly still as she climbed on his back. The stirrups were longer than she needed, but she hugged her legs around his ribs, bunching the dress up around her middle.

With only one clue of where she was headed, she took off at a gallop out of town.

_**- - **_

Colin and Jackson stood on the porch a moment, gaping after her, then Jackson ran for the stables and bridled his horse. Not bothering with a saddle, he swung up onto his horse's bare back, surprised to see his father standing at the door of the stables.

"Are you staying?" he asked quietly.

Colin nodded slightly, his heart pounding as he realized today that he might lose both his sons. "Your mother..."

"If she comes back here, shoot her," Jackson advised him.

"Be careful," he whispered, wishing he had time to say more. Had the ability to call Erik back, and tell him those same things. It was too late...he had failed both of them.

Jackson nudged his horse out into the yard, and found the Prefect sitting on a wagon, looking pensively down at a notebook.

"If that was who I think it was, then we should follow her," the Prefect said without glancing up. "She'll lead us straight to her mother, I would imagine."

"Susanna had nothing to do with this," he protested. He turned back to see his father standing on the porch, his expression guarded. "She's going after Erik."

"Erik?" the man looked up, surprised. "Well, then I suppose we really should be going. I've already had enough of this village. Having another dead person to deal with is only going to irritate me."

_**- - **_

Erik stared at Guin, a cold smile touching his lips. "You really think you're going to unmask me, Madame Allard? Hell will freeze over first."

She smiled back, though she looked vaguely nervous. Wasn't he supposed to be begging by now? Why was he looking at her with a faintly satisfied expression? Gone was the pleading boy she had left with the Gypsy's. He was gone, and in his place was a fearsome man...her pulse raced a little, wondering what he was concealing beneath his clothing. He was so big...just like his father.

"Come, Erik," she purred. "We'll start with the mask. Then...who knows? We may let you take off more."

His smile widened, though it was not the sort that she wanted to see. "You're old enough to be my mother. I apologize, Madame, I fear the scent of your flesh might make me ill. The sight of you nearly does."

Guin raised the gun a little, wishing it didn't feel so heavy in her hand. Her muscles trembled, and she felt a flash of fear when the gun shook a little, and Erik noticed it. Feeling anger that her body was weakened because of her age, she swung the gun around and pointed it towards the woman on the floor.

"Very well, if you won't take it off to save yourself...maybe you will take it off to save her."

"No, Erik," Mirela whispered from the floor. She raised her uninjured hand and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "She can kill me. Don't take it off."

Guin fired a shot in the floor beside her head, and Mirela cried out, wondering if she were still alive. Then she just began crying, though silently. She moved away from the woman, who was staring down at her with a smug look on her face. Long enough for her to see Erik remove something from his coat, and she prayed it was a gun.

Guin turned her head to look at Erik, her eyes widening when she saw a strange looking rope in his hands. "Mmmm, fascinating. What have you been doing all these years? Playing cowboy? I'd love to be tied up, darling, but I'm going to be so busy for the rest of the day. Put that thing down, or I'll shoot this little slave."

Erik didn't move, the rope feeling frozen in his hands, like dead weight. He couldn't lift his arm...couldn't swing it...and he knew for certain that he would miss. Without the merciless anger that he had lived with all these years, he didn't think he could do it. All those years working for the little sultana, and those last second decisions to save himself had built up. Perhaps this time he would miss. Perhaps this time he would die. There had to be another way to get that gun away from her...because he had never tried to use the lasso against a gun.

"I'm not a slave!" Mirela spat. "_Not _a slave."

"You _are_ a slave," Guin chuckled, then glanced down at her. "Erik, has she told you? Have you seen her mark? I thought it only fitting, you know, to give her a mark since you had one as well. Let's see," she knelt beside Mirela, the gun still trained on Erik, "I believe we put it on her neck..."

"Mirela?" Erik whispered, looking down at her.

"Don't look," she said quietly, fighting Guin when she twisted her head around. "It doesn't matter, Erik. It's alright. Just don't read it."

Guin yanked the hair up away from her neck, and displayed the words. "See? You are a slave. Perhaps I should put it somewhere you can read it. This was merely to remind my customers of what you were. And some of them found it so...arousing. Stimulating, even."

"Mirela..."

"That wasn't her name all of the time," Guin said, giving him a caustic look. "She was my little Pocahontas, and a little Italian beauty called Araminta. The Indian princess Anjali..." She smiled slightly. "I hated to get rid of her. She was so very, very versatile. So...flexible...obedient. The men were panting for her all the time, and she _loved_ it!"

"No!" Mirela cried, hiding her face in shame. "No!"

Guin saw the paleness of Erik's face, and knew she had the upper hand. She knew, because the slave was on the floor crying, and Erik could not draw his eyes away from her.

"She called out to you. At first." Guin taunted, "Erik...Oh, Erik, please!" She laughed again, and pointed the gun back at Mirela. "Save her now, Erik. Save her. Kneel before me, and take your mask off. It's the only way."

Erik knelt and complied, slowly removing the hairpiece and mask. His eyes met Mirela's as the stifling air inside the cottage touched his exposed flesh, and he bared himself to them both. His heart sank when he heard Guin moan, and he felt defeat more strongly than he had ever felt in his life. Susanna would hate him if he killed her, and he would hate himself if he lost her.

"Derrik?" Guin whispered, feeling confused. Where had he come from? He was here now...he was here, and he was hurt so badly. "My Derrik, how you've grown."

Erik's eyes flew to hers, and she blinked, finding herself staring into green eyes instead of blue. She remembered the sight of her son's charred flesh...what he had become. He had become a monster, just like Erik. They were both monsters. Only this monster was the one who had killed her baby. Her baby boy.

"You killed him," she said, venom lacing her tone. "You killed him!"

"No!"

"You killed him...You monster!"

"_No!"_

It was a stronger voice this time, and Erik raised his head to see Susanna standing in the doorway behind her mother. She met his eyes for a moment, her own wild with tears, and he felt like dying. She could see him. All of him.

Guin seemed to recover, for she gave her daughter a shaky smile. "This is the man you wish to marry? This beast? How can you bear to lie with him? He's disgusting. Look at him!" she demanded. "Look at the man who killed your brother!"

"No," Susanna said calmly. "It wasn't Erik's fault. It was yours."


	106. A Plotting Bridegroom

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik concentrated on breathing slow, and kept his eyes on Mirela. She couldn't stop crying, and her dark eyes met his, full of shame. He felt numb inside, knowing now what she had endured. All these years, and she had been right under his nose.

"It's alright," he murmured to her.

"Don't – " Mirela pleaded.

Susanna and her mother were staring at one another, and Erik glanced up to see where the gun was pointed. It was back on him, but Guin wasn't paying attention to him any longer. She was pale faced, and looking at Susanna, with hate burning in her eyes.

"It wasn't my fault," Guinevere hissed. "It was his! He was always getting your brother into trouble. And it was your father's fault, for ever getting involved in Francine's affairs. I hate both of them!"

"No," Susanna insisted. "You should have been a better mother. If you hadn't been more concerned with revenge than watching your children, Derrik would have gone to his room as Papa ordered him to. And Erik...," she looked at him, and met his eyes, hating the defenselessness she saw there. "Erik wouldn't have been hurt. I wouldn't have lost my family. He wouldn't have lost us for all these years."

"Look at him! He's horrid!"

"No," Susanna breathed, and stepped around her mother, placing herself in front of the gun. "I love him. I love him with all my heart."

"Susanna, no," Erik said tightly, grabbing her hand when she stepped away from her mother's wavering hand. He pulled her behind him and stood, shielding her body with his. Her blue eyes filled with panic and fear, and he wrapped his arms around her, praying Guin didn't shoot him in the back.

"Get away from my daughter! Get your hands off her!" Guin demanded.

"I am _not_ your daughter," Susanna said quietly, looking into Erik's eyes.

Erik felt his spine tingle as he heard Guin's shriek of outrage, and he pushed Susanna down to the floor as hard as he could. He should have warned her not to anger a woman with a gun pointing at his back. He closed his eyes and waited, but the shot came two seconds later than he expected.

Two agonizing seconds, that might as well have been two hours.

Because in that two seconds Susanna had met his eyes again, looking hurt and confused, her dress disarrayed over her legs, her hands braced on the floor. His body tightened, because he knew...he knew that she was going to shoot him.

"Erik," Susanna breathed, her ears ringing from the explosion.

"Oh, God," he whispered, and sank to his knees again. His legs failed him, and gave way so quickly they felt like water washing over sand. "Susanna."

- -

Susanna watched him fall, and then beyond, her mother fell too. But Guin fairly flew forwards, her limbs flailing out in front of her, and the gun scattered across the wooden floor. Erik was still on his knees, his face white with shock. He clutched his chest slowly, an odd look of confusion on his face.

"No...no...," Susanna whispered, crawling across the floor to him. He looked in shock, staring into her eyes as she ran her hands over his back, his head; everywhere. "Erik...?"

"There's no pain," he said reassuringly. "No pain...I love you, Susanna."

"You're not dead!" she exclaimed. "Erik...I don't think you've even been shot."

He looked at her doubtfully. "It's alright, my love. I don't hurt."

"Of course you don't hurt," a dry voice said behind them. "You weren't shot."

"Jackson!" Susanna cried, and Erik found himself abandoned as she ran across the room and launched herself at him. He turned, seeing Guin's lifeless eyes, and he looked away. In death she even more closely resembled Susanna, and it pained him to see the blood pouring from beneath her body. He lifted his eyes to his brother's, watching as Susanna kissed his brother's cheek.

Jackson set her down and tucked a pistol inside his waistband, then pulled her outside. His hands began to tremble, and he found himself unable to look Susanna in the eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her. "Susanna...I'm so sorry."

"Don't," she said gently, placing her hand over his. "You saved his life..."

"She was going to shoot him," he said sadly, his eyes filled with tragedy.

He turned as he heard Erik standing in the doorway, and they both looked up to see Mirela in his arms. Erik stepped down from the doorway and set her down gently, then pulled Susanna to him. She went into his arms, and he squeezed her tight.

"I thought...I thought I was...," he stammered, pressing his face against hers.

With a chaotic stir in his heart, he at last remembered that he was unmasked before them both. He pulled back and looked into her eyes, and realized with utter relief that he already knew what he would find there in her eyes. Love.

Susanna loved him, as he had known – deep in his heart – that she would. She loved him, and he smiled at her, even as her eyes drank in every last detail of his face.

"No," she murmured, closing her eyes and pressing a kiss against his chest, then opening them so she could caress his face. "Never that. I love you. I won't let you leave me. Not ever."

_Three days later_

The mourners strolled away, leaving their families standing over the grave of Guinevere Allard. Only Henri had wept, though it was more out of loss for what hadn't been, than the death of his former wife. Then he had ushered the children down the hill into the Talbot's carriage, sending them off with Emma for a day or two while he grieved in private.

Susanna and Erik moved away from her grave after they had all left. To a smaller grave, very near it. Where Derrik was at rest, though not perhaps with Guinevere. Or perhaps in death, with the madness gone from her troubled mind, she had found peace.

It was the first time either of them had visited him, and they both knelt silently, reading the epitaph of their friend and brother, lost to them so long ago. The gray curved figure of an angel rose above the earth, seeming to pray over the bones of the dead child, who lay there eternally, his name cast in stone alongside his mother.

"I miss you," Susanna whispered, holding Erik's hand tightly as she traced his name. "Sometimes I thought I might die from missing you so much. I'm...I'm so sorry I didn't know how to save you. I wish you were here, and you could see my children. That you could see us all together. That you had gotten married...that...that I were best friends with your wife, and our children played together. I wish..."  
She stopped as Erik took her by the shoulders and pulled her close, and she cried for him. For everything that he had been, and everything he could never be. Death had parted them forever, but he would live on in her heart.

"Susanna," Erik murmured, rocking her gently. His throat closed all air supply to his lungs, and he held her tighter to stifle his rawest urge to cry.

And for the first time it failed him, and he buried his face against her neck, breathing in her sweet smell, and so overcome he could no longer stop. He felt her hands drift up to his hair, and to his mask, silently asking permission to remove it for the first time.

"I don't...I don't know," he said, looking around slowly. "Someone might see..."

"It's just me, Erik," she whispered. "Just me."

He bared himself before her in the warm, summer daylight. Beneath a French sky more beautiful than any other before, or any other after.

Because he knew in that moment with his future bride, that he had never been freer in his life.

- -

The lake was inviting, and naturally they slipped down there to sit on the bank. To kiss lazily, with more clothing cast aside than was modest or proper, and without the mask and the black hairpiece. Susanna loved to see his natural hair color in the sunlight. Loved the way she could see all of his face when he was smiling, and the look he had in his eyes before she kissed him.

"Is your father greatly upset about Jackson leaving?" she asked softly, lying back against the grass.

"Yes," Erik said quietly. "He's very upset. More so because he left without telling anyone but me that he was leaving. But he took it much better than Lily."

Erik stared out over the water, wondering where his brother was at the moment. Jackson had left the night before, saying he couldn't attend Guin's funeral. He felt guilty because he had killed her, and Erik knew it would take some time for his brother to come to terms with it. But he would, he thought. He would deal with it, and come home where he belonged. And face the wrath of a sister who was completely devastated by his leaving. And the guilt of a father who hadn't ever said the right words to him – not once in his life.

"Do you think Mirela felt comfortable traveling all the way to Paris with him?"

"I don't know," he said, frowning. "I wish she hadn't gone so soon."

"So does Rand, I think," Susanna whispered. "I feel bad for him. But he doesn't seem to be all that saddened. When you told him, he just sort of smiled. I wonder what really happened while she stayed with him."

"Love, I think," he said gruffly, then offered her a wry smile. "It does strange things to a man, you know."

"To a woman as well," she said demurely. "I think his brain is addled though. If you left without saying goodbye, I certainly don't think I would be smiling."

He leaned over and placed a kiss on her chin, then her lips, then her nose. "The lady has issued a challenge, I believe. And I think Monsieur Vallee is more than willing to accept it. I don't think we've heard the last of those two."

"You don't?" Susanna giggled, "And what about us, Erik? Where are we going from here?"

"I hope," he murmured, nuzzling at a spot just above her breast, "that we are going straight...," his lips traveled down a little further, "to the altar."

"I could be pregnant, you know," she said merrily.

"Could you?" His hand settled on her stomach, warmed at the thought of a child there.

"But I think we should wait at least three months to get married."

"Do you?" he asked, not sounding in the least bit perturbed.

"Unless of course," she gasped as he fondled her, "I am already with child. In which case...Erik! I am trying to...to..."

"Three months it is," he agreed, nipping at her throat. "I do have the right to speed things along though. Because there is every chance you could _not _be with child. In which case...I will do my best to get you that way."

"Erik!" she scolded, but his wicked charm had her laughing as well.

"Did you _need _something, Susanna?" he whispered, looking her in the eyes, his face composed into a perfectly innocent smile.

"You, Erik," she said, her breath hitching at the look of desire in his eyes. "I need you."

And Erik Dessain – always eager to please his future bride – did just that.

Twice.

---

I am going to update my profile page (soon) and let you know what is going on with the rest of this story. I hope you enjoyed it, but (gasp) Erik and Susanna are through. Not that we won't be seeing them again..._somewhere_...


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